#glass journal

[glasshearts-break]

Something that’s been weighing on me which I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned a million times b4 is I miss when I could make art. It used to fulfill something within but it’s been so long I can’t remember. My anxiety and ocpd reached a point where drawing is not just drawing. I don’t get into the flow. I’m constantly thinking, erasing, and I end up hating it and the fact that I wasted time even doing it.

And it’s definitely the mental illness acting up but I’m not really sure what to do about it. Nothing ever feels right and it’s an eye sore. I find myself thinking I should draw but I know I’m gonna hate it sighhh it’s just this constant going back and forth that art has no rules but I just can’t…

I’ll be really sad to find out that I lost that magic I had when I was 17.

[drbtinglecannon]

In Knives Out Blanc wanted to do the murder mystery investigation with Marta so bad, but she was certain she was guilty so she spent a good amount of the movie avoiding/hiding stuff from him

Meanwhile in Glass Onion Helen was fucking carrying the investigation, even while accidentally getting drunk, and even went to investigation lengths Blanc was hesitant to do

[caffeinatedcatlover]

Week 8 in my journal. The journal is already getting chunky, so I didn’t stick in many drawings this time.

[heatwa-ves]

glass animals spread

[funnymothguy]

Last paper puppets piece b4 ii happens yeayea

[dude-97]

ʃ dude sona art …

ʅ extra art of my dude sona down below ^_^

[bibiwrld]

Coworker Stephen Glass!— “𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙤𝙮 𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚” pt.1

Pairing: Stephen Glass! x Black Fem Oc!

Content warning: Stephen Glass isn’t a manipulative liar in this, jealousy, fluff, OC is a bit of a bitch. (It’s kinda short, but I finally decided I wanted to make multiple parts for this)

Summary: A young journalist working at New Republic, wants the attention of journalist, Stephen Glass, only on her.

Mary-Anne’s POV

I watched maliciously from the blinds of my office, as Francesca got up for the 5th time to use the bathroom.

My grin got wider.

Maybe if she stopped eating my lunch from the office fridge, she wouldn’t have vomiting and diarrhea.

My officer door suddenly opened. “Mary-Anne.” His sweet voice pulled out of my conniving trance.

I remember when he first said my name.

“Mary-Anne…that’s a very beautiful name. You don’t hear names like that anymore. It really suits you.”

The first compliment he ever gave me and it’s been stuck with me ever since I started working at New Republic 2 weeks ago.

He thought it was cute that I was named after my great grandmother, and I thought it was cute how he adjusted his round glasses and ran his fingers through his dark curls as he read my notes for an article I’m planning to publish , but I couldn’t say that— he’s basically my boss.

Out of everyone in the office, Steph is the only one I could call my friend. We weren’t extremely close, but close enough to have a relationship outside of the office.

“I’ve read your work, and it’s just..amazing. A freelance journalist with your talent coming to work for New Republic, is a dream come true.”

He stroked my ego that day two weeks ago. I was a smiling and giggling mess. How could one man be so funny, charming and beautiful all at the same?

But then there was his over friendliness that I hated, he treated everyone in the office the same. Giving out compliments to all the women in the office like god damn candy.

“Did you do something with your hair? It looks gorgeous.”

“I think your necklace compliments your eyes.”

I internally rolled my eyes in disgust at my thoughts and looked at the angel before me.

Stephen Glass. Even his name was perfect.

“Something wrong, Steph?” I batted my lashes and slightly pouted my lips.

“Are you okay?” The concern in his voice matched the look on his beautiful face. He closed the door behind him, taking quick strides to my desk.

“Yeah, why do you ask?” I tilted my head to the side, fiddling with my pencil.

“Francesca seems very ill and I hope it’s not something going around, everyone in the office could get sick.”

He was such a caring guy, busy wondering if everyone was okay and comfortable. I hate him. I hate him for how kind he is, but how could I stay mad at him? That perfect face, sweet voice and charming personality, I could never do that to him.

“I’m sure she’s fine and it’s probably nothing airborne. Stop worrying yourself, Steph.” I sighed, leaning back in my seat.

His body seemed to relax at my words. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

I studied his face well, he looked like he wasn’t getting any sort of sleep. His glasses weren’t hiding anything.

“When was the last time you’ve had a good 8 hours?” I leaned forward. “You look exhausted Steph, you have eyebags.”

He sighed deeply, looking away. “I’ve b-been working overtime.”

“You’re not a machine, you need sleep.” I tried hiding my anger. He was always there for everyone, but who was there for him? Not one of them, just me, and I’m fine with that.

He was mine after all.

“You’re on break, right?” I glanced at the watch on my wrist.

“Y-yeah.” He stuttered, looking back at me.

“You can take naps in here on your breaks if you want.” Maybe that was too much, but who am I to hide my attraction for him?

“Mar—”

“It can be our little secret, plus, you can’t be fired for sleeping on your break.” I slightly shrugged my shoulders. “Just a little recharge in the middle of the day and your office doesn’t have a couch, so just use mine.”

He hung his head in defeat then looked back up with a smirk. “You’re very persuasive Mary-Anne.”

It took everything in me not to bite down on my bottom lip at his words. “ I know.”

[supernaturalkickparty]

May 2 Sammy is eight years old today. Happy birthday, kiddo. No matter what the demons and soothsayers and lunatic albinos say, you're special to me just because you're my son. And I'm never going to let anything happen to you.       Ms. Lyle was after Sammy because he has something she wants. She said he was special. So did Silas. What's different about him? He's just a boy. My boy.

[salembehindbars]

I don’t know why I just lied like that.

Love, Dark Paradise, Body Electric, Tulsa Jesus Freak, Margaret, Black Bathing Suit, This is What makes us Girls, Gods & Monsters, Ride, Cola, High by The Beach, The Blackest Day, Groupie Love, Cherry, TV in Black in White (Unreleased), Because of You (Unreleased), Serene Queen (Unreleased), Serial Killer (Unreleased), Trash Magic (Unreleased), Never Let me Go (Unreleased), Prom Song (Gone Wrong) (Unreleased), I talk to Jesus (Unreleased), Poetry In Motion (Unreleased), Smarty (Unreleased), I Want It All (Unreleased) are definitely my favorites.

Poetry In Motion, Serene Queen, Love, Dark Paradise, Body Electric, Gods and Monsters, Tv In Black and White and Because Of You are definitely up there, absolute masterpieces.

High By The Beach was literally my most listened to song on Spotify last year.

[glasshearts-break]

Hey diary,

Today was my first day at orientation for my new job. I also have a dentist appointment tomorrow. And I have some assignments due this Sunday. I am overwhelmed to say the least. I feel like I haven’t gotten a day to just forget about tomorrow. Bc of my ocpd once I get in that zone I don’t stop “fixing” until I burnout so I forced myself to finish an anime I’ve been putting off. It was hard for sure and I kept stopping it at times. In my head I feel like I can’t enjoy things unless I deserve to enjoy. How can I relax when I have unfinished tasks. How can I do something that doesn’t make me a better person. Recognizing when I get like that is helpful I suppose.

I do hope to get on meds soon and be able to create and post art and feel whole

[mortalheartache]

The idea of IRL stephen glass is so funny because he’s some guy who is genuinely a not good person and also crusty dusty but we babygirlified him because a hot guy played a character of him 😭

I like to imagine some poor journalism major is on tumblr looking up ‘stephen glass’ to see if likeminded journalists have posted anything on him and they get smacked in the face with smut fanfiction of the yassified babygirl version of the subject of their final paper

[fazgoo-connoiseur-1987]

he is so normal about his coworker i promise

[caffeinatedcatlover]

Week 11 in my Hobonichi Weeks plus some thoughts on Tower of Dawn.

[bordeaf69]

Manifesting to become her this school year 

[dogstomp]

Dogstomp #3065 - May 23rd

Patreon / Discord Server / Itaku / Bluesky

[m1d-45]

wandering

summary: my scaramouche pulls, but make it sagau

word count: 1.8k

-> warnings: minor spoilers for sumeru (3.2) archon quest, author has not done 3.2 archon quest but had been spoiled by tumblr :/, probably ooc scara. based entirely on me and my prior pulls (pulled miko, pulled + built childe, has an itto), like two swear words?

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3

< masterlist >

scaramouche didn’t know what to think of the stars.

he’d kept an eye on them, out of curiosity, watching as constellations rose and fell, rose and fell, their cyclical nature never ending. he never saw any importance in them—not even when he heard of the forest watcher in sumeru being used as a vessel and his glass heart twisted—and hence never paid any attention, focusing on his mission in sumeru. he kept a passing eye on them, sometimes trying to guess how long the current rotation would be up during particularly boring fatui meetings, or trying to guess which constellations would light up when the stars began to fall.

after a while, he began to pay a little more attention to the patterns. he didn’t know why, but suddenly they drew him in more, even as he rolled his eyes whenever tartaglia boasted about a star crossing his constellation. never mind that that guuji from inazuma had hers too, no, he was the one that mattered.

and he was probably right. his bow had been replaced, he was a better shot than ever, and his water blades burned with skill. even the tsaritsa noticed his increase in strength, irritatingly, sending him a letter of congratulations on becoming a vessel. he’d even spent a whole day drafting a three-page letter to his family detailing it all, all the new skills and power he’d picked up by being with you.

what made him so favored?

he pulled down the brim of his hat, repressing the need urge to look up at the sky. he’d never been one to believe in astrology, or astronomy, or whatever that witch in mondstat wanted to call it. he wasn’t going to start now, not when his whole plan in sumeru was close to toppling.

he arrived at his camp. he accepted reports with a scowl. he marched to his office. he glanced through the window. he sat down.

he didn’t know why he was being so contradictory. he’d never felt this before towards anything, let alone something he actively despised. there was no reason for this. at all.

scaramouche picked up his pen, pulling over another dull report. the words bled together, the handwriting atrocious, and he was tempted to burn it. the only thing stopping him was the knowledge that it meant he’d have to ask for another from whatever recruit turned it in.

he tapped his pen on his finger. it was hard to focus, unnaturally, and he chalked it up to the weird feeling that’s been bugging him all day; the same one that wanted him to look at the stars. he sighed, adjusted his hat, glared at where a tassel caught on his chair, and picked up a pen again.

‘troops near chatrakam cave…’

purple eyes glared at his page, at where the ink bled a bit as he left his pen too long. what was his problem?

his eyes flicked to the window, to the curtains waving in the breeze coming though.

‘…have encountered no problems. all…’

‘…all…’

‘…all is going gwe-‘

scaramouche slammed his pen on his desk with a loud groan, standing from his chair and sending it skidding back. with stomping steps, he approached the offending window, reaching to shove the pale green curtains aside. he fumbled once on the lock but quickly pushed open the whole window, removing his hat to put his head through and glare at the sky.

“what the fuck could you possibly-…”

scaramouche stared.

his steel tongue was stilled, no quick remark or scathing quip coming to his mind. his thoughts were empty, his mouth suddenly dry as he looked upwards.

at his constellation.

he knew the moment he received a vision—how he wanted to see it shatter—that he had one, the image filling his mind alongside the elemental abilities. he knew what it was, he knew it’s name, he knew the six stars that composed it and the lines drawn between.

he didn’t know it was in the sky.

but there it was, blue stars shining brightly next to some orange bull, almost mocking him as he looked up at them. in his disdainful study of the stars, he knew that only a few were delegated to the prime positions in the sky, and that the latter of the two had been rotated in already. even if he didn’t, the way it’s stars outshone his made it clear.

curses rose and fell on his tongue, like a relentless tide that dared him to speak whilst taking away his air.

he knew what having a constellation in the sky meant. he knew it, and it was why he tried earnestly to destroy it the moment he got over the shock when he received it. he wasn’t picky about power, but power that came at the cost of being another gods puppet?

he’ll pass, thanks.

so to see himself in the sky, to know that at any moment strings could be tied around his wrists once more, that he could be jerked and pulled across a stage of another’s making-

the stars shone brighter.

his office fell away, his hat slipping from between his fingertips.

no.

he reached for it, he reached for his last semblance of a shield—he wouldn’t need it—from another god, but he barely felt the fabric before it was gone.

a white haze surrounded him, vaguely bubbling into clouds far beneath his feet as he stood on an invisible platform. a blurry rectangle was far out in front of him, a distorted voice warping through.

“-i have 45, that makes… i just have to get lucky, then…”

the voice was soft- you were soft, urging him to relax even as his rational mind fought. he could feel his heart speeding up in his chest, feel the war of emotions clouding his thoughts.

this wasn’t fair. you didn’t get to show up, after everything he’d been through, and expect him to fall into your lap. you didn’t get to do that, not to him, not now, not ever.

how he wished you’d catch him.

stars lit up the sky, one after another, and he saw one of them cross a flower-like constellation. you ooo’d and thanked whoever it was for answering—as if they had a choice—and sent out more stars, more wishes, the dust certainly fogging his head.

your voice grew clearer the more stars you summoned, his heart rate increasing in turn. how many did you have? would he be forced to go? why did he want to? would you wrap your divine hands around his and pull him into your team? why did his paper front of a soul leap at the idea?

emotions he’d never felt filled his chest, heat and warmth and icy frost pooling in his veins.

“50,” you called, voice alarmingly gentle in his ear. “please, scara, please?”

he should be proud to have a god so high begging for him. he should cross his arms and puff out his chest, he should smirk and glare with a comment about how even the divine can fall.

he was one of them.

“60,” you whispered, flaring the boil in his chest.

what did he do? what could he do? how did he get out of here? why didn’t he want to? what were you doing to him? what were these feelings? why did he never want them to fade?

“70. please? pretty please?”

he felt himself lurch as the star passed but gripped desperately to the invisible air around him, wide eyes searching for a way out. it was all clouds and stars, as far as he could see, with vague shapes slowly coming into focus around him. he saw something that he thought would direct your attention elsewhere, then realized it would take your gaze off him would only be temporary and saved his energy.

“80. come on, scara.. i promise i’ll be nice.”

nice? he wanted to laugh. he would have if he wasn’t so short on breath already- and yet somehow still lightheaded, his vision swimming as his fingers began to buzz. he could feel it, the invisible rope around his chest pulling as the purple stars whizzed by, and yet he held firm in his place amongst the clouds. he couldn’t answer you he wouldn’t be able to stay composed. he wouldn’t allow himself to be put under another’s jurisdiction again but he knew you were different, you were warm and soft and so different from her.

you would not have him yet.

you were not his god you were his true creator.

you laughed. he hated loved that it was edged with bitterness.

“damn. making me go to the shop again, huh?”

he wanted to apologize tell you it was a lost cause.

“well scara… 4 more wishes. i know it’s useless but… please?”

one.

the pull knocked the wind out of him, his treacherous to who? hands faltering their grip on the walls around him. in the blue light of the stars, he knew he was flushed with exertion.

he could feel it, the chance he was given. the choice to stay, to hear your voice falter and slip and plea, or to go. to answer the string pulling at his heart of glass, to trust and hope that you wouldn’t betray him like so many before.

two.

did he dare believe you? did he dare to trust the only one he could another god, to put his cracked trust in your palms and hope you wouldn’t drop it? did he go against his rules, did he follow the reputation he had built up, did he cling to the clouds before crashing down in regret his office?

who knew if you could be trusted? if he went, you’d have two harbingers under your thumb. what if you wanted to topple the fatui? what if this was a ploy to get him to trust you? what if you didn’t treat him like you did childe or any of the others, what if you wanted him to laugh and scorn and taunt? what if you wanted him just to see him try and pick himself off the floor where he landed, expecting nothing and yet still disappointed?

what if you wanted him for him?

three.

enveloped in gold, the wanderer could only wish that you would catch him.