#i think it adds interesting texture without being too distracting!!

[tubapun]

Rarity got invited to a fancy new show in Manehatten, so of course she's bringing along her wonderful beau!!

(and the characters by themselves so you can see rarity's outfit that i worked ages on)

[punkshort]

i had an idea to add to the ‘str’ extras post. i came across an insta account that details “things ____ loves/hates” (i will link an example, credit to them for the idea), thought it could be an interesting, insightful look into sheriff!joel, of things you haven’t touched on but that makes up the wonderful man we have grown to love!

no rush if you decide to do it just a fun lil thing i thought of <3

https://www.instagram.com/p/C3BLN86OquE/?igsh=MWF0aG0ydzA4c3BnZg==

I like this idea! And I am very much looking for a distraction so I decided to have a little fun with it and make a photo collage to go along with my answers:

Likes:

Classic romance novels. I think he likes to keep it a secret but he has a soft spot for the classics (I thought wuthering heights was kind of apt... two people unable to be together, etc...)

Coffee. It's an obvious one, but maybe not so obvious is he prefers to share coffee with someone else. That's why he always found himself going to the diner, even before reader came on the scene. He just likes to be around others, even if it is his annoying younger brother.

Texas - duh. Sheriff Joel couldn't imagine living anywhere else, especially up north. He is a southern boy through and through.

Lazy mornings. Those are rare for him. Sarah tends to have a busy schedule, even on the weekends, so when he gets the chance to sleep in a little or just lounge around before having to get up, he really enjoys that (especially if reader is there, although he hasn't been able to have many mornings with her... yet 👀). To go along with this, he also really likes kissing. Just making out with no goal in mind. Slow, lazy licks and soft little noises under a warm blanket on a Sunday morning with nowhere to be? Perfection.

Old movies. Especially at the drive in. Something about the nostalgia of it really makes him happy. And that romantic side of him can't help himself. It's usually his go-to first date idea.

Football. As Sarah mentioned once before, he really enjoys American football and annoys her with it. Sarah really looks forward to the spring and summer because there's no football on TV and she doesn't have to listen to him yelling in the living room every ten minutes.

His favorite pair of jeans. He's had them for years, the knees are getting worn out but he loves them and won't part with them.

Sarah - obviously. Even though she keeps him on his toes and super busy all the time, he would drop anything for her. He is always struggling to balance work and home and he tends to stretch himself too thin and not take enough time for himself, but he tries to make every single soccer game and school event because he loves seeing how talented Sarah is.

Hiking, specifically with Sarah. It's something they like to do in the summer, at least one weekend a month. Occasionally he can convince her to camp out overnight, but she hates sleeping in a tent so it's a hard sell.

Dislikes:

People who don't use their seatbelts. It's so easy. Just do it. He's seen too many accidents in his line of work and he hates when people don't use them.

Snakes. Sarah never lets him forget about the time when he was nine years old and he went to put on his boot to go play outside and was surprised to find a snake sleeping inside. To this day, he can't put his shoes on without checking them first.

Oysters. It's a texture thing, he thinks they're gross. He doesn't care they are an aphrodisiac, he doesn't need it 😉

Line dancing. Even though he's from Texas, it makes him cringe every time he sees people doing it.

Snow/being cold. He prefers the heat. It's what he's used to and he doesn't like shoveling snow on the rare occasion Texas gets any accumulation.

Lip Gloss. He likes kissing. A lot. And he thinks lip gloss is too sticky.

Wool Sweaters. Because he runs hot as it is and wool just makes it worse. Plus, it's itchy.

People who talk about themselves too much. Especially women he's been on dates with. He likes learning about other people, but when it becomes apparent they have no interest in learning about him, it's a turn off.

Golf. Because all my Joels hate golf. For no particular reason at all.

Thank you so much for this ask! It was a lot of fun putting together.

[sesshy380]

🧸, 🦷, 🌿, and 🦋 for the truth or dare ask!! ^^

🧸 ⇢ what's the fastest way to become your mutual?

Just start randomly chatting with me. If I don't reply right away, it's usually because I'm busy, but I will reply when I get the chance. If it's been a few days, throw me another rando message. It's entirely possible that my squirrel brain took a glance at it then got distracted and forgot (and without the notif dot, I won't think to check).

If we've been chatting on occasion, but then it's been a few days and you wanna reach out, do it! I am terrible at initiating things, because I brain tells me I am being annoying (I'm sure that's majority of the people here). If your brain does the same and keeps you from sending those rando messages to me, you're not. I have low energy days that sometimes limit my socialization, but it takes a lot for me to find someone annoying. Your competition for 'who is more annoying' is a 15yo that will walk into the room and recite John Cena speaking in Mandarin over and over and over and (that's him being mildly annoying)

🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on

This one is for making mashed potatoes when you have low energy. It involves knowing ahead of time.

Figure out when your higher energy period is and get the prep work done. Peel, cube, rinse off dirt/excess starch (I do a double rinse), then put in a bowl or the pot you plan to use with cold salt water that covers and put in fridge for later. I've done mine the day before on occasion, and even had one time where something came up so it had to sit in the fridge for an extra day. I don't recommend 2 days in advance on a regular basis, but it can be stretched that far if needed (I suggest replacing the water in this instance before boiling).

When it comes to mashing, electric hand mixers work great. You get a nice creamy texture, though you can leave a few lumps if preferred.

Accidentally added too much liquid during the mashing process? If you have dry instant potato flakes, sprinkle and mix a little at a time until you get the desired consistency.

🌿 ⇢ give some advice on writer's block and low creativity

Don't beat yourself up (easier said than done, I know). Do something else for a bit. Your brain will scream on occasion to work on your stuff. Make the attempt to at least look. At one point something might just click.

Maybe you wanna write something, but it's not The Thing™. Do it. Write the randomness that appears. Get it out of your system. Maybe it's not your usual style. Maybe it's incoherent gibberish. Hide it away in a doc labeled 'Gibberish'.

Maybe you're stuck on a scene that you want to go a certain way, but the characters want to do something else. Let them. You can copy/paste everything that will still be relevant for the original plot and pick back up later.

Sometimes you get stuck trying to carry over from a previous chapter, then while cooking a grilled cheese you realize that chapter doesn't even have to be there. Don't delete it, just store it away. It might come in handy later. Sometimes that's the only reason the block existed in the first place. (That totally didn't happen to me)

🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately 

There are times I feel like I'm letting my readers down with not having any recent updates to TKB 2nd chance.

Add to it that my longfic has also become a 'I will post when I have something', and I'm afraid my longtime readers will think I've become another of those longfic authors that lost interest in their own story and will discontinue writing it.

That is absolutely, positively, not true.

I love my longfic. It's my baby. I'm just starting to get to the part where I feel some readers might start noping out. The tag is there, but it's worded in a way to avoid spoilers. The hints are also there, but I am having to consistently remind myself 'I'm writing for ME'. The end I have in mind is a bit of a cliche, and the dynamics between characters will not be any less string-board.

And I'm frustrated because I don't have anyone that I can discuss future chapter ideas with that has even a clue what's going on. It's one of those stories that you can't simply mention a character name and think you understand their dynamic with other characters, because despite being somewhat canon compliant, it's more parallel timeline with a whole different pre-history. It's the 'What if' of What-if's.

Ask Game here

[hyenaswine]

the water after the soak was brown 🤢 fuckin nasty, so i refilled it & left it in the soak for a few more hours with extra dish soap & now i think it's okay. i usually don't wash my fabric before i start because i'm lazy & i assume it's clean, but i also thrift or salvage like 90% of my fabric & i don't remember where this stuff came from. i always wash my pieces when i'm finished tho. i have a bad habit of always sewing on plain white cotton so i chose this stuff because it's like an interesting ecru so it adds a little texture to the background without being too distracting. i have such a stupid amount of fabric & i need to use more of it.

i did the outlines for my toucan piece & now i'm soaking it because i'm sick of the adhesive but also, for some reason, the fabric i chose reeks so bad. i don't remember where it came from. it smells like musty old lady perfume but VERY strong. i'd normally wash the piece at the end anyway but i'm washing it early because i'm sick of smelling it.

[shizukateal]

The new Precure designs - I gotta know what you think. They have some unecessary details, a lot of which definitely fit in the category of "you'd probably dislike them," but personally I'm something of a fan! The big bows are unnecessary but endearing

Cure Precious

Anon, once again, I'm going to clear this up properly in a separate post but I do not have a categorical hatred of tails. Not only does my magical girlsona have one, but also my favorite magical girl of all times is Sakura Kinomoto, and my favorite dress from here is the princess dress that has a gigantic tail.

Even this girl here, yeah, I wouldn't say her tail or rather the general overskirt is good, but it's not all that bad either. However, it probably wouldn't have been needed at all if the skirt puffed up a bit better instead of having this clunky awkward movement to it, although that could just be the artist. The problem is that between its sharp, stiff edges, general weird shape, the unnatural way it transitions from the sash and overstuffed apron. Moving to the top, I'm not sure I understand the flaps on top of the sash, but more importantly it was pointless to make it so that the top "zips" to the side with the trimming of the neckline following through. One can barely notice it at all because the front ribbon distracts from it and beyond that it interrupts the aesthetic the outfit is going on in the first place and it makes one question how it carries through to the overskirt. Her hove-sock-boots are odd but not necessarily ugly, so they can stay as far as I'm concerned. All in all she could be slightly more polished, but she's far above acceptable! Congrats to her.

Cure Spicy

The blue one is called spicy???? Um, ok I guess? She does look like she has an attitude I do like how her stance compliments her outfit. The short boots with the stockings and this kind of slitted/ asymmetrical overskirt plus the long gloves, it all gives a mature edge to the look. Sadly, the transition from top to skirt is awkward due to the apron -and even without it it's a bit hard to imagine how to make it work properly- and the back ribbon takes away too much attention. Still, she retains points because this approach is rare to see and it makes her stand out.

Cure Yum-yum

There's the skeleton of a very interesting idea here, once again suffering under the weight of excessive ornaments. The bowler hat/ hairpin? doesn't even have anything to do with the chinese hairbuns, the chest ribbon looks clunky because of how big and distracting it is, and the top line of frills on the skirt adds nothing needed. The shoes are also... impractical? clumsy? Like, those aren't actually shoes, those are short socks with frills with two ribbons shoddily tied around the ankles to give the impression of shoes the same way a white sheet with wholes gives the impression of a ghost. The sash upholding the apron being striped like that is also tiring to the eyes in between all of the other pattern and color combinations it competes with.

As for the back ribbon... Hm :/ See, I don't hate it and I think on itself it is pretty, but it's positioned too low on her back to fully sell itself as butterfly wings and it is too big to properly highlight her waist. I'd call hell Diet Tsuruno, but let's be real: next to eachother Tsuruno is a properly balanced meal and this girl is a sundae overstuffed with every candy in spite of any sense of flavor and texture balance.

Cure Finale

It's a bit hard to put into words how she fails, because the ideas behind her choices make sense on paper, but they simply do not get together.

First of all, here's a good opportunity to compare why I might like a tail and not another. While certainly not perfect, Cure Precious' tail gets a pass over this one because hers is more aerodynamic, for lack of a better word. It's cut in such a way that the weight is not unanimously placed on the lower back, even if the shape of it is not all that attractive. Meanwhile Finale is hard to imagine moving with much free-range, because there's so much weight behind her between the tail -which also starts at a lower point that Precious' and is longer-, her hair and the big ribbon. The drapes attached to the orbs are also jarring and they bring out this sorta uncanny-valley effect of how stiff and 2-dimensional the skirt looks. Once again the apron is cute, and it kinda helps the hipline transition because it starts too low, but at the same time it doesn't fully match the skirt either. Not because of the colors of course, but because, again, the skirt looks like a paper cut-out, and that makes the apron look taped on top of it.

I also get why they cut her sleeves, but it doesn't really help. This looks to me like a case of someone trying to make the square peg fit into the round whole by literally cutting it. It would've been better to just give her shorter puff sleeves, ones that look like they actually belong to the jacket and overskirt. In summary she is pretty, but not consistent enough for me to find her admirable.

My overall assessment is that they are below the A La Mode and Healing Precures, but above the Huggto Precures.

[mistabullets]

i also want alucard to rail me ! could i perhaps suggest,,, alucard with a chubby s/o,,, as wholesome or nasty as you desire

A Taste of You

Characters: Alucard | Adrian Tepes x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Alucard decides to show his love for you.

Content Warning: n/s/f/w, afab reader but neutral pronouns, chubby reader, virgin reader, reader is a witch, vaginal finger, slight blood drinking (he just accidentally nip your lips), slight virginity and corruption kink (???), and post season 3 but it’s quite fluffy so don’t worry

Note: There wasn’t any railing involved but you gave me a reason to write some indulgent smut with Alucard and for that, I appreciate you. 

Not SFW under cut ; 

You let out a quiet gasp when the dhampir’s careful lips meet the warm skin from the column of your neck, tensing slightly as it sends tingles down your spine. He laughs at your small reaction, finding it adorable; a lithe hand running down your side to ease the fluttering anxiety and reel you into his ghost kisses. “Relax, my dear… I just want to make you feel good.”

Considerate as always, you think, despite the growing erection brushing up against one of your thick thighs. He must feel uncomfortable to a degree since he is still in his trousers.

How odd it is, that fate led you to him.

You were a mere witch, hopping from town to town but never staying too long in fear that some close-minded individual would suspect your magical ability and report you to the church officials. However, the last particular town found out too soon of your sorcery. Before anyone could act and drag you to a stake to be tied up and burned, you packed your belongings and ran into the forests. You heard from the townsfolk how dangerous it was to roam those woods, especially at nighttime, that a particular vampire lived within the heart of it. However, you reasoned it must be some myth to scare the children or just something to make this dreadful town more interesting and have something to talk about.

Yet deeper into the greenwoods, the lingering smell of decaying death met your nostril. Again, you rationalized - this was the territory of wildlife. Perhaps it was a deer carcass nearby. Who knows? Now wasn’t the time to fret, as you heard voices bounce and echo from the trees, too far away but you could certainly pick up some words: witch, find, and a few curses. Without properly analyzing your surroundings, you picked up the pace, not considering directions and ignoring the fact the putrid scent grew stronger the further you went.

You were stopped in your tracks by a blur of red and a thunk to your head. Before the waves of unconsciousness dazed you, you caught a brief glimpse of golden locks and a pale figure. Perhaps the villagers had gotten you; perhaps this was your angel to guide you toward heaven. But can a witch such as yourself go to heaven, especially if you dabbled in the dark arts?

Well, considering where you are, beneath a beautiful man who carried a merciful soul that you did not deserve… this is the closest to any celestial afterlife you’ll ever be. It took months, perhaps even a year, to mend the wounds of his heart. You recall the first couple months here, living behind the closed doors of Castlevania. Alucard, who happened to be dhampir son of the late Dracula, wasn’t too enthusiastic about allowing another soul to inhabit, especially after being alone for nearly half a year. While you were polite to never ask questions, you eventually put two and two together upon catching a glimpse of the scar, from recent times, forever ingrained into his porcelain skin. No wonder he longed for some privacy. For they were a reminder of loss and betrayal, the day when he saw humanity’s corruption.

And while he’ll never fully forget the sin they committed, he came to realize his lapse of judgment. It stemmed from the unmerited tribulation - he was quick to close off his heart, not properly allowing himself grief, to process the trauma he’s been through.

But seeing how you still forgive the humans and long to aid them, despite them killing your coven, gradually made him realize how foolish he has been. He was reminded of his mother’s wisdom; how she was willing to be scrutinized by the church if it meant she could help others and spread her nurturing knowledge. You were willing to help those in need, despite the hardships humanity has gifted you. While it certainly took time, he was beginning to open his heart to you… and in return, you were showing him your vulnerability, culminating into this moment: you and Alucard, glowing under the moonlight, exploring each other’s bodies like new lands.

He kisses your plush lips again, mindful of his incisors. His hands find your plump breasts, giving them an experimental squeeze, relishing in the breathless gasp your voice elicits. Adrian withdraws himself from your mouth, savoring the taste of your lips; he wants to smother them, hear the symphony he can pull from you, but he wants to drink in your blushing form and the plush curves of your flesh against his muscled figure. The dhampir sees you as a goddess undeserving of him yet here you are, sprawled out and waiting for his next move. You find yourself more flustered than before, small and fragile beneath his resplendent eyes. His visage softens, noticing the doubt casting your lovely face. Adrian leans back down, resting his head against the middle of your breasts, the blood rushing through your veins sounding delicious. But oh, while your blood may be sweet, he wants to try the appetizers first.

“God, you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen,” he declares, lips peppering kisses on one of your breasts before finding a nipple to feast on. A shaky moan leaves your lips, your hands find themselves in his hair. Alucard makes sure to give each of your pert buds attention; suckling them in between his lips and gently pinching the sensitive skin with his lithe fingers. Your mind is swirling - how painful the virginal heat is between your legs, how merciful yet ruthless his touch is, how patient this angelic man is despite his own carnal desire, and how you love it and you love him. He allows your breasts to rest from the overstimulation; kisses explore your collarbone and neck while a curious hand searches for the heat radiating at the apex of your thighs. You whimper please at the feel of his hand against your now damp undergarment and your lover can’t help but chuckle at your eagerness. “Patience, my love.”

He rewards you a kiss, brushing strands of your hair away from your forehead. Your face is burning from how intently the dhampir observes each time your visage twists in newfound pleasure. A finger rubs up against your clothed slit, wishing to draw out more of your juices and lewd noises. “A-Adrian, please… t-touch me, please.”

“I am, my treasure,” he teases with amusement.

You whine, exasperated, and Alucard gives a playful grin. He understands what you mean but it’s fun to tease. Looking into your blown-out pupils, he asks for silent permission and you already know what he wants. You awkwardly lift up your hips so he can pull down your undergarments with ease. Once off, his fingers make contact with your naked mound, collecting the slick pooling from your heart and down your thighs. You’re eager to spread your legs further apart, allowing him access to more. He sighs, pride swelling how he is able to make you fall apart so quickly. After some painful slow strokes of your exposed slit, Alucard’s finger experimentally rubs your bundle of nerves, relishing in the moan of his name and how desperate yet demure it rings. Finding the entrance to your maidenhood with ease, he easily slips his index finger and god, that wail sounds ethereal. The dhampir sees how your entire form is quivering, from the tension and nerves, and he’s quick to litter your body with kisses and lovebites to distract your melting brain. You giggle a bit when a strand of his golden locks brushes against a ticklish spot and he’s glad to know you’re easing into his touch.

Adrian tentatively curls his finger in a come here motion - and after a few strokes, he finds that spot that makes your toes curl and makes you moan even louder. Your mind is foggy but you’re feeling confident, enjoying the way your lover is making you come undone - you plead for more. And so he adds another digit to your tight heat and repeats the same motion and experimenting more; scissoring your insides, burying his digits to the knuckle, and alternating these motions. You’re almost at the peak, he sees - with how your moans grow in volume, you’re bucking into his touch, and your e/c eyes swim in lust and adoration. His fingers pick up the pace, drinking in your divine image: soft and thick thighs spreading out more, lightning shape stretch marks adorning your cute belly and hips, and your chubby face contorting in the madness of pleasure as you imagine what his cock would feel like inside of you.

Wishing to relinquish you of this torture, he presses his thumb up against your clit and you’re seeing stars speckle your vision as strange pressure builds higher and higher to the cliff of your undoing. “A-Adrian, i-it’s too much! I-I’m going to, a-ahh--!”

Alucard rubs faster and harsher and thrust his fingers deeper - like he wants to feel every inch of the textured insides of your pussy. His forehead comes to rest on yours to admire your hungry eyes. Before you tumble from your peak, his lips crash against yours to consume the lovely noises, desperate and needy, and he accidentally bites your lips; but god, is your blood even sweeter in the glow of your climax. You didn’t even realize he’s grinding his groin against the mattress, too caught up the new sensation of Adrian’s fingers fucking your womanhood. If you could read minds, could you handle the extent of his ardor for you, a bashful witch? After seeing you wonderfully fall from your summit, Adrian truly believes he would die if he didn’t have more of you, if he couldn’t hear more of those needy keens, if he couldn’t pound you into oblivion, if he couldn’t--

His focus shifts from his lewd imagination to your glowing visage. From the dazed glisten of your eyes and the soft smile plastering your blood-smeared lips, Adrian could wait. Carefully, he pulls his fingers out of your sopping core, curiously bringing them up to his lips and lapping up the juices (much to your embarrassment), Alucard can’t help but laugh at your burning red face, planting his lips against yours and drinking up the remaining blood (the metallic taste of it combined with your juices made for a good combo).

“Do you need a break before we get to the main course, my beloved?”

He smiles at your cute face, steam particularly coming out of your ears.

But he smiles wider when you say no.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 139

Day Two of the Food Festival!  This one has a specific request from @baelpenrose, which was fun to play with in the Low-Stim session (always on day 2).

To everyone who has reached out to tell me how much they are enjoying getting to see Sophia actually relax and just have fun for once.... Y’all are the best! It’s been fun writing it, too. 

New reader shout outs go to @corvallis, @penguin--person, @amphibiousuprising, @chip5-0, and I think @lostsoul8822. I think that’s everyone... If I missed you, please DM me, and I’ll add you to the next chapter.

On with the show!

The first day of the Festival, Conor and I ended up staying through not only Maverick’s shift but the one after, just so we could drag him to our favorite spots. Day two, however, Conor was on deck as Support Personnel as well as Maverick, and neither were assigned to me - for the first half of day two, we were in the Low Stim Mode, so I was pretty sure I could brave it on my own with everyone else’s proximity alerts and my own personal hyper-alertness preventing accidental bumps.

For me, the most exciting part was the different foods offered, and the fact that I could focus on just the food. Not having to ignore the other stimuli was a completely relaxing experience. The visual of the mural, with everything present, was still completely different in the even, indirect lighting. The dual nature of it was toned down significantly, leading to the overall feel being softer and overall more pleasant without being distracting.

Halfway through a very good pad thai, I spotted Derek and Sam sitting with Ivan and poking at something that Sam was clearly excited about and Derek was equally doubtful of. I circled around so they could see me approaching, and made a point to wave. “What do you think?” I asked, trying to sign as I spoke but hampered by the food in my hands.

“It was a good try,” Derek confessed, cheeks stuffed with something that had previously been on a plate to his left as a backup plan.

Setting my food down, I grinned mischievously. “Doing my best,” I signed, leading to laughter on all sides.

“You just told him you do him the best,” Ivan murmured, my face immediately flooding red.

“That is NOT what I meant,” I tried to explain out loud, over-enunciating while I clenched my hands in embarrassment.

To his credit, Derek signed what he seemed to understand I meant, emphasizing each sign. It was clear that I had gotten several out of order and added one that changed everything overall.

After repeating the signs and getting confirmation, I shook my head and sighed dramatically. “I tried.”

Ivan was trembling with laughter. “You. You did,” he admitted. “But that was… wow.” His head dropped on his hands as he shook silently.

“Souffle pancakes?” I offered, finger spelling the word souffle since I had no freaking clue how to actually sign it.

“Egg pancake,” Derek explained, poking the one I offered and contemplating the jiggle.

“It’s cinnamon sugar, and not gooey,” I explained.

Apparently I got that one right, because Derek immediately stabbed a piece and shoved it in his mouth.  The only judgement I needed was the fact that he dragged the entire remaining pancake onto his plate.

Sam watched his roommate before contemplating his own sample. Before he could even ask, I held up a cup full of macerated berries. “And fruit topping for you, sir.”

“Are those my berries?” he asked, skeptical.

I shook my head. “Bog standard, from the consoles. Your vegetables and fruits are being used in the other shifts. We didn’t want to give anyone here unexpected tastes.”

He nodded and dumped the entire cup of fruit over his pancake, digging in happily.

Ivan batted his eyes at me until I explained. “Sam’s produce has… unexpected pairings. Tomatoes that pair with cheesecake and wines, strawberries that really go well with steak…”

“The mango that goes with beer but not fish?”

“Yeah, that one. Von soil does strange things to produce, turns out.”

“Those matcha-edamame are amazing though.”

“For ice cream, yes. For tea, less so. They’re like… cooking matcha, almost.” I laughed. They actually worked better for ice cream than matcha did, oddly - reducing the sugar content but still giving the same flavor.

“One vendor on the last day is using nothing but my produce,” Sam announced happily. “They asked my permission.”

“That’s good!” I encouraged him. “They should always ask your permission to do things like that.”

“People ask with requisition forms,” he agreed. “Mona asked in person.”

Note to self: much more patronage at Mona’s normal spot, I swore in my head.  She specialized in vegetarian dishes, and honestly made some of the best fried cabbage I’d had in my life.  Knowing that she was so considerate of Sam cemented her as my new favorite takeaway place.

After a little more chat, I finally waved my goodbyes to everyone and strolled slowly to the next tempting stall. I wasn’t really in any hurry, and did more people-watching than I did eating. Latkes were infinitely more interesting when I could overhear people arguing over family recipes.  A small bowl of udon was delicious, but not nearly as flavorful as the discussion around hot versus cold, what to top them with, egg or no egg… the only thing anyone seemed to agree on was that the smiling vendor ‘obviously’ ground their own flour, because the flour provided by the consoles was the wrong texture.

Another mental note: don’t learn to make udon.  Despite what I had previously believed, it takes a lifetime to make it right, turns out.

Wandering further down, I was delighted by the discovery of something that was very clearly Hannah’s doing: demonstrations of older food prep techniques.  Simon winked at me as he carried on a demonstration of - insanely - how to hand pull toffee. I didn’t know he could do that. Muna was demonstrating the correct way to make chapatis and handing them out as fast as she was making them. Clearly, she had been making them her whole life, because at no point did I actually see her look at them, but every single one was perfect.

Laughter erupted over my shoulder, and I whipped my head around to see the source. After wading through a crowd of smiling faces, I couldn’t help but join in.  There, right in front of the entire Ark, was Maverick trying to flip takoyaki as fast as the person demonstrating, and ending up with just a mess of octopus and batter on his side.  Both Maverick and the person guiding him were smiling, though, and in the end, the vendor handed Maverick four perfectly-round balls and quickly devoured all of the - less shapely, so to speak - ones on my partner’s side.  With an exuberant cheer and extending his arms wide to the crowd, the man exclaimed “The first takoyaki of a new student are always my favorite! Nothing tastes better!”

After bowing to his sensei, Maverick turned and spotted me, face still flushed with laughter.  He offered his food to a smaller man I did not recognize, who must have been the person Maverick was Supporting, before waving to me and continuing on.  Despite the urge to crush him in a hug, I forced my feet to stay in place and reminded myself that he was working.

By the time I trusted myself not to race after him, I realized someone had been trying to get my attention and had resorted to messaging me rather than shouting. “Phee, I don’t know what la-la land you are lost in, but look 100 yards to your four.”

The hell was Arthur doing here? He wasn’t scheduled to work this shift, as far as I was aware.  Craning my neck over my shoulder, I turned to see… Apparently a hallucination. It had to be.  There was no chance in any of the nine hells that Arthur Farro was dishing out spaghetti, much less smiling while doing it.

Almost dreamlike, I found myself drifting over to confirm that I was wrong, only to be startled when he shoved a plate with not only spaghetti but two gorgeous pieces of garlic bread under my nose. “Special plates, you can’t smell anything unless it’s on purpose.”

“You… Spaghetti?” I asked, eloquent as ever.

“Family recipe.”

“Leaning into the stereotype a bit, aren’t you?” I asked carefully before shoving as much of one thick, crusty piece of toast in my mouth as I could.

He shook his head. “Anyone who tells you their family is Italian and denies having a family recipe for anything is a damned liar.”

Skeptically, I took a bite. It was amazing. “Ah ee deh rehahee,” I tried to get out around the heap of pasta I was steadily shoving in my mouth.

“Maverick is a very bad influence on your table manners,” he observed drily, plating more portions and handing them out. “And no. Not happening.”

“You know I can cook.”

“Not the point. I also know that you will fiddle with it until it is unrecognizable, so there’s really no point in giving it to you.”

Defiantly, I took a smaller bite and chewed carefully. “Garlic, onions, obviously. Sausage and minced… Lamb? But that’s probably just for this session, knowing you it’s spicy sausage regularly.  I’m not getting carrot, though, so no soffritto? Unexpected…. Is that thyme, I’m tasting?”

“Rosemary, you heathen. And you’re still wrong.”

I mumbled to myself. “What did I get wrong? It’s gotta be the lamb… maybe he does usually use the lamb? I’m certain it is lamb…”

“It is lamb, and no, I don’t usually use it. But you left several things out.”

I stared at the plate again, confused. “I didn’t think I needed to mention the tomatoes….”

“Basil… oregano….” he drawled.

“Duhhh?” I poked through the last bite on my plate, sniffing it, trying to figure out what I was missing. “Fine, you win, I’m lost.”

“Mushrooms, Sophia. There’s mushrooms. Jeezus. It was an easy one, too.”  He showed me a bowl full of what looked like cooked and crumbled sausage, only for me to realize it was the tiniest diced mushrooms I had ever seen in my life.

“I am dying to know how you got them that small.”

“With a knife?” He arched an eyebrow at me as he turned to start another batch of sauce.

“Yeah, no shit, Arthur.”

“Correct, there is no shit in the spaghetti,” he confirmed cheekily as the vegetables started sizzling.

“Asshole,” I laughed, scraping the remaining sauce from my plate with the piece of bread I saved just for that purpose. Just as I was frowning at the sauce-less plate and remaining half-piece of bread, a scalding hot dollop of fresh sauce invaded my vision.

“You love me, because I won’t let you frown at your bread like that.”

Fiiiinnnne I sighed in my head as I shoved a piece of saucy, saucy bread into my cheeks and waggled my fingers to let him get back to work.

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[dusksmote]

How do you ink and color? Any tips? I love your art! 💜🖤

oh shit i got this ask months ago and forgot to answer

inking: god i hate lineart so much. the trick is to not do it 😂 unfortunately, i still find myself spending hours on lineart all the time @_@ 

the biggest thing i’ve found is making your lines varied in thickness. it adds to the interest. i also try to make my outside line thicker than my inside ones to break up the figure from the background. don’t be afraid to skips some lines and imply them with shading instead. i will color over my lines at the end to make them not as strong, but i’ve learned to still keep some lines black for extra emphasis. 

^ here’s one of my older pieces that i’ve been considering redoing. it has very little line variation, ALL the lines are colored so there’s no solid black, and there’s very little hard contrast in shading values. overall, it looks flat and uninteresting and if i had the time i’d redraw this one.

this is a more recent example of lineart that i think works a lot better. the characters are really well defined with a strong outline, but the inside lines aren’t harsh and distracting. you can see i recolored the lineart in kyle’s hair to be a dark red, and in some places it blends with the shadows to imply areas with more highlights. stan’s pants don’t have and lines in them, just the outside shape and pockets. 

you can see in this wip what the lineart looks like before i do all the shading and fancy stuff. stan’s pants look totally flat and straight until i start shading.

a lot of the time though i won’t even do lineart, especially if it’s a big scenic piece. the more zoomed out less detail you can convey, and lineart takes up a lot of space. 

^ this piece is an example where i do both, lineart and no lineart. the mirror image of kyle isn’t the focus, and i honestly didn’t feel like going in and drawing exact lines because they’d probably look fucked up anyway. i typically don’t put hard lines in backgrounds because it would take FOREVER and just be distracting.

the one thing you do have to be careful of with lineless art is contrast. hard lines are good contrast that show you what you’re looking at, and without them your image can blend together. 

here’s part of a painting i did last august, when i was first experimenting with lineless styles (full image on my NSFW twitter). can you tell what’s going on here? i sure as fuck can’t. there’s no contrast, and it makes all the skin tones blend together in an unintelligible mush.

contrast has always been one of my biggest weaknesses as an artist, so i’ve been trying to improve over time. here’s a more recent lineless drawing:

this one works because it had high contrast. the highlights are really bright and the shadows are really deep. you can still make out the facial features too, but there’s no ‘lineart’ layer’. everything was painted on in the same layer.

-

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coloring: oh my god i love coloring. it’s my favorite part of drawing and the reason why shit takes forever. a lot of the same stuff from before comes into play, like contrast. you can also portray some really interesting moods based on colors if you’re being stylistic, but also pay in mind to your environment.

i always color my background first. in fact, a lot of the time i’ll do the entire background before coloring a piece. the environment establishes your light levels and light source, and it’s typically easier for me to tweak colors on a figure than the ones in the background. in the above example with kenny, the background is a mostly solid black with a beam of light from the left. i picked kenny’s colors to fit in this environment. 

it’s also important to use references.  

you can see in this wip i’ve got a reference image for how light from a TV looks against figures and the way their shadows are cast across the wall. it also helped me figure out what colors to use in this situation.

a lot of coloring is just trial and error to see what works. i usually start with a flat base color and add value to it. if you put all your colors on different layers it’s really easy to change them quickly. 

here’s an example:

i got my base colors down and here i can see the skin tone is blending with the background, so i lightened it up for better contrast

i typically shade the skin first, then clothes. you can see here i did a dull skin tone with a bright colored shadow. this adds more contrast and interest. i always try to avoid doing dull shadows where you shift toward black. black shadows are really uninteresting and they can make your piece look muddy. i’ll typically shade with an orange, red, blue, or purple.

the final piece has a really bright highlight on it coming from behind. this just adds more visual interest and contrast. you can also see i’ve gone back into the pink shadows and added an even lighter, brighter peach value in places to show reflected light. this also gives the darker pink shadow an added outline effect, because it touches the base skin tone but looks lighter within. 

^ this one’s a good example of light and shadow (full image on my NSFW twitter lmao). there’s not a lot of color because it’s dark out, so everything had to be conveyed in values. there’s hard light across the stomach and then a shadow over the chest, but there’s still light being reflected up into stan’s face that lets us make him out. the rest is deep shadow and unimportant, so it’s all black.

that’s the other part, color and value determine where your eye is gonna look, so consider that when drawing. 

^ consider this piece i drew like a year ago. it has a lot of blues and reds, and originally i was going to make stan’s guitar blue. i don’t have the wips anymore, but it didn’t stand out and it didn’t look right with the image. after a lot of playing around i went with yellow because it’s bright, it breaks up the image, and it adds another color to the piece to balance it out.

the same thing happened when i was working on the cover image for What They Say About Us. 

you can see in this really early wip that i’d blocked in the colors and butters is totally naked. for one, i was like “damn that kid is WAY too naked in this image” and he also blended in with stan and cartman. additionally, there was a lot of warm colors on the left, a lack of color on the right, and an overall lack of blue.

first change i made was throwing a shirt on him and it made a huge improvement. the image looks much more balanced now and he’s not super distracting with his naked-ness.

other than that, coloring is just picking your base colors, blocking in shadows, adding highlight, and cleaning it up. if you wanna improve, look at photo references. look at other people’s art and examine how they use color and value. practice practice practice. have fun with it. the most fun i have coloring comes from figuring out interesting textures like the pharaoh headdress or kenny’s leather jacket. 

i find stock photos like this and study them to see how the light works

other than that, the rest is just playing around, seeing what works, and making things up as i go!

[galaxygermdraws]

Can I just say that the way you do the texture on worm man's sweater in particular is super cool? Like... it looks soft and knit together but the way you do it isn't super complex and it really just adds a lot of interesting texture without being too distracting. It's really really cool!Message @Carl-bot

Oh ty! I actually kinda took inspo from my bestie @rhapsoddity because be does that whenever he draws sweaters. I like adding texture to art without cluttering it n I think this is the best way to do it with at least sweaters. No idea for other fabrics tho.

[1vintage]

Ocean Vuong on Metaphor

below is a transcript of an Instagram story from Ocean Vuong, available here in his story highlights under Metaphor.

Q: How do you make sure your metaphors have real depth?

metaphors should have two things: (1) sensory (visual, texture, sound, etc) connector between origin image and the transforming image as well as (2) a clear logical connector between both images. 

if you have only one of either, best to forgo the metaphor, otherwise it will seem forced or read like “writing” if that makes sense.

~

a lot of ya’ll asked for examples re:metaphor. I can explain better if I had 15 minutes of class time (apply to UMASS!). But essentially, metaphors that go awry can signal a hurried desire to be “literary” or “poetic” (ie “writing”), which can lose traction/trust with a reader. in other words, a metaphor is a detour—but that detour better lead to discoveries that alter/amplify the meaning of what is already there, so that a reader sees you as a servant of possibility rather than someone trying to prove that they are a “writer.” One is performative, the other exploratory. In this way, the metaphor acts as a virtual medium, ejecting the text’s optical realism into an “elsewhere”. But this elsewhere should inform the original upon our return. otherwise the journey would feel like an ejection from a crash rather than a curated journey toward more complex meaning.

example:

“The road curves like a cat’s tail.”

This is a weak metaphor because the transforming image (tail) does not amplify/alter the original. The transfer of meaning flattens and dies. Logic is weak or moot: A cat’s tail does not really change the nature of the road. You can certainly add to this with a few more expository sentences which might rescue the logic—but by then you’re just doing cpr on your metaphor.

Sensory, too, is weak: a cat’s tail has little optical resemblance to a road other than being curved (roads are not furry, for one.)

So this is 0 for 2 and should be scrapped. (Just my opinion though! Not a rule!)

okay so what about:

“The road runs between two groves of pine, like the first stroke of a buzzcut.”

this is better. the optical sensory of the transforming image (a clipper thru a head of hair) matches well with the original.

but the logic feels arbitrary. again it doesn’t substantially alter the original.

in the end this is just an “interesting image” but not strong enough to keep I’d say.

Now here’s one from Sharon Olds:

“The hair on my father’s arms like blades of molasses.”

Sensory connector: check. A man’s dark hair indeed can look like blades (also suggestive of grass) of molasses.

Logical connector: check. the father is both sharp and sweet. Something once soft and sticky about him (connotations of youth) sweets, has now hardened the confection no longer fresh etc.

It’s an ambitious metaphor that is packed with resonance. In other words, it does worlds of work and actually deepens the more you dit with it. A metaphor that actually invites you to put the book down, think on it, absorb it, before returning. a good metaphor uses detours to add power to the text. poor metaphors distract you from the text and leave you bereft, laid to the side.

lastly, the prior examples are technically “similes” but I believe similes reside under the umbrella of metaphor. although a simile is a demarcation, ie: this is “like” that. but this is “not”, ontologically, that.

however, I think something happens in the act of reading wherein we collapse the “bridge” and the mind automatically forges synergy between the two images, so that all similes, once read, “act” like metaphors in the mind.

but again this is all subjective. you might have a better way of going about it.

Another very ambitious metaphor is this one from Eduardo C. Corral:

“Moss intensifies up the tree, like applause.”

This is a masterful metaphor, risky and requires a lot of faith, restraint, and experience to pull it off.

Difficult mainly because we now see a surrealist “distortion” of the sensory realm: origin IMAGE (moss) is paired with transforming SOUND (applause).

There is now a leap in comparable elements. But the adherence to our two vital factors are still present.

Sensory: moss, though silent, grows slowly (the word “intensifies” does major work here becuz it foreshadows the transforming element). Applause, too, grows gradually, before dying down.

Logic: the growth of the moss suggests spring, lushness, life, resilience, and connotes anticipatory hope, much like applause. In turn, applause modifies the nature of moss and imbues, at least this moss, with a sense of accomplishment, closure, it’s refreshment a cause for celebration.

God I love words.

~

I’ve gotten so many responses from folks the past few days asking for a deeper dive into my personal theory on metaphor.

So I'm taking a moment here to do a more in-depth mini essay since my answer to the Q/A the other day was off the cuff (I was typing while walking to my haircut appointment).

What I’m proposing, of course, is merely a THEORY, not a gospel, so please take whatever is useful to you and ignore what isn’t.

This essay will be in 25 slides. I will save this in my IG highlights after 24 hrs.

Before I begin I want to encourage everyone to forge your own theories and praxi for your work, especially if you’re a BIPOC artist.

Often, we are perceived by established powers as merely “performers,” suitable for a (brief) stint on stage—but not thinkers and creators with our own autonomy, intelligence, and capacity to question the framework in our fields.

It is not lost on me, as a yellow body in America, with the false connotations therein, where I’m often seen as diminutive, quiet, accommodating, agreeable, submissive, that I am not expected to think against the grain, to have my own theories on how I practice my art and my life.

I became a writer knowing I am entering a field (fine arts) where there are few faces like my own (and with many missing), a field where we are expected to succeed only when we pick up a violin or a cello in order to serve Euro-Centric “masterpieces.”

For so long, to be an Asian American “prodigy” in art was to be a fine-tuned instrument for Mozart, Bach, and Beethoven.

It is no surprise, then, that if you, as a BIPOC artist, dare to come up with your own ideas, to say “no” to what they shove/have been shoving down your throat for so long, you will be infantilized, seen as foolish, moronic, stupid, disobedient, uneducated, and untamed.

Because it means the instrument that was once in the service of their “work” has now begun to speak, has decided, despite being inconceivable to them, to sing its own songs.

I want you, I need you, to sing with me. I want to hear what you sound like when it’s just us, and you sound so much like yourself that I recognize you even in the darkest rooms, even when I recognize nothing else. And I know your name is “little brother” or “big sister,” or “light bean,” or “my-echo-returned-to-me-intact.” And I smile.

In the dark I smile.

Art has no rules—yes—but it does have methods, which vary for each individual. The following are some of my own methods and how I came to them.

I’m very happy ya’ll are so into figurative language! It’s my favorite literary device because it reveals a second IDEA behind an object or abstraction via comparison.

When done well, it creates what I call the “DNA of seeing.” That is, a strong metaphor “Greek for “to carry over”) can enact the autobiography of sight. For example, what does it say about a person who sees the stars in the night sky—as exit wounds?

What does it say about their history, their worldview, their relationship to beauty and violence? All this can be garnered in the metaphor itself—without context—when the comparative elements have strong multifaceted bonds.

How we see the world reveals who we are. And metaphors explicate that sight.

My personal feeling is that the strongest metaphors do not require context for clarity. However, this does not mean that weaker metaphors that DO require context are useless or wrong.

Weak metaphors use context to achieve CLARITY.

Strong metaphors use context to SUPPORT what’s already clear.

BOTH are viable in ANY literary text.

But for the sake of this deeper exploration into metaphors and their gradients, I will attempt to identify the latter.

I feel it is important for a writer to understand the STRENGTHS of the devices they use, even when WEAKER versions of said devices can achieve the same goal via different means.

Sometimes we want a life raft, sometimes we want a steam boat—but we should know which is which (for us).

My focus then, will be specifically the ornamental or overt metaphor. That is, metaphors that occur inside the line—as opposed to conceptual, thematic, extended metaphors, or Homeric simile (which is a whole different animal).

My thinking here begins with the (debated) theory that similes reside under metaphors. That is, (non-Homeric) similes, behave cognitively, like metaphors.

This DOES NOT mean that similes do not matter (far from it), as we’ll see later on, but that the compared elements, once read, begin to merge in the mind, resulting in a metaphoric OCCURRENCE via a simileac vehicle.

This thinking is not entirely my own, but one informed by my interest in Phenomenology. Founded by Edmund Husserl in the early 20th century and later expanded by Heidegger, Phenomenology is, in short, interested in how objects or phenomena are perceived in the mind, which renewed interest in subjectivity across Europe, as opposed to the Enlightenment’s quest for ultimate, finite truths.

By the time Husserl “discovered” this, however, Tibetan Buddhists scholars have already been practicing Phenomenology as something called Lojong, or “mind training,” for over half a millennia.

Whereas Husserl believes, in part, that a finite truth does exist but that the myopic nature of human perception hinders us from seeing all of it, Tibetan Lojong purports that no finite “truth” exists at all.

In Lojong, the world and its objects are pure perception. That is, a fly looks at a tree and sees, due to its compound eyes, hundreds of trees, while we see only one. For Buddhists, neither fly nor human is “correct” because a fixed truth is not present. Reality is only real according to one’s bodily medium.

I’m keenly interested in Lojong’s approach because it inheritably advocates for an anti-colonial gaze of the world. If objects in the real are not tenable, there is no reason they should be captured, conquered or pillaged.

In other words, we are in a “simulation” and because there is no true gain in acquiring something that is only an illusion, it is better to observe and learn from phenomena as guests passing through this world with respect to things—rather than to possess them.

The reason I bring this up is because Buddhist philosophy is the main influence of 8th century Chinese and 15th-17th century Japanese poetics, which fundamentally inform my understanding of metaphor.

While I appreciate Aristotle’s take on metaphor and rhetoric in his Poetics, particularly his thesis that strong metaphors move from species to genus, it is not a robust influence on my thinking.

After all, like sex and water, metaphors have been enjoyed by humans across the world long before Aristotle-- and evidently long after. In fact, Buddhist teachings, which widely employ metaphor and analogy, predates Aristotle by roughly 150 years.

Now, to better see how Buddhist Phenomenology informs the transformation of images into metaphor, let’s look at this poem by Moritake.

“The fallen blossom flies back to its branch. No, a butterfly.”

When considering (western-dominated) discourse surrounding analogues using “like” or “is”, is this image a metaphor or a simile?

It is technically neither. The construction of this poem does not employ metaphor or simile.

And yet, to my eye, a metaphor, although not present, does indeed HAPPEN.

What’s more, the poem, which is essentially a single metaphor, is complete.

No further context is needed for its clarity. If context is needed for a metaphor, then the metaphor is (IMO) weak—but that doesn’t mean the writing, as a whole, is bad. Weak metaphors and good context bring us home safe and sound.

Okay, so what is happening here?

By the time I read “butterfly,” my mind corrects the blossom so that the latter image retroactively changes/informs the former. We see the blossom float up, then re-see it as a butterfly. The metaphoric figuration is complete with or without “like” or “is.”

Buddhism explains this by saying that, although a text IS thought, it does not THINK. We, the readers, must think upon it. The text, then, only curates thinking.

Words, in this way, begin on the page but LIVE in the mind which, due to limited and subjective scope of human perception, shift seemingly fixed elements into something entirely new.

The key here is proximity. Similes provide buffers to mediate impact between two elements, but they do not rule over how images coincide upon reading. One the page, text is fossil; in the mind, text is life.

Nearly 5000 years after Maritake, Ezra Pound, via Fenolosa, reads Maritake’s poem and writes what becomes the seminal poem on Imagism in 1912, which was subsequently highly influential to early Modernists:

“The apparition of these faces in the crowd: Petals on a wet, black bough.”

Like Maritake, Pound’s poem technically has no metaphor or simile. However, he adds the vital colon after “crowd,” which arguably works as an “equal sign”, thereby implying metaphor. But the reason why he did not use “are” or “is” is telling.

Pound understood, like Maritake, that the metaphor would occur in the mind, regardless of connecting verbiage due to the images’ close proximity. We would come to know this as “association.”

Even if the colon was replaced by the word “like,” the transformation, though a bit slower, would still occur.

In fact, when I first studied Pound years ago, I had trouble recalling whether this poem was fashioned as a simile or not—mainly because the faces change to fully into blossoms each time I try to recall the poem.

Now, let’s look at a simile that, to me, metaphorizes in the same way as the examples above, in the line we saw before from Eduardo C. Corral:

“Jade moss on the tree intensifies, like applause.”

The origin/tenor image (moss) is connected to the transforming element (applause). This metaphor suggests, not an optical relationship, but a BEHAVIORAL one.

Both moss and applause are MASSES that accumulate via singularities: grains of moss and pairs of hands clapping to form a larger whole.

By comparing these two, Corral successfully suggests that moss grows at the RATE of applause, creating a masterful time lapse effect. Applause speeds up the moss growth, connoting rejuvenation, joy and refreshment. That something as mundane as moss deserves, even earns, jubilance, also offers a potent statement of alterity, that the smallest flourishing deserves celebration, which in turn suggests a subtle yet powerful political critique of hegemony.

The poet, through the metaphor, has recalibrated the traditional modes of value placed on the object (moss).

And no other context is needed for that.

You might disagree, but when I read Corral’s line, I don’t SEE an audience clapping BESIDE the moss. I see moss growing quickly to the sound of clapping. Although the simile is employed, the fusion of both elements completes the action in my mind’s eye.

Like Maritake and Pound, metaphor has OCCURRED here—but without “metaphor”.

HOWEVER, the simile is still VITAL. Why?

Because the transforming element is abstract (applause) and looks nothing like moss. We don’t want moss to BE applause, we want the nature of applause to inform, imbue, moss.

The line, I feel, would be quite poor if it was formed sans simile:

“Jade moss is applause on the tree.”

The “is” forces transposition, which is here akin to slamming two things together without mediation. We also lose the comparison of behavior, and are asked to see that moss BECOME applause, which doesn’t have the same meaning as the original.

So, although the simile fuses into metaphor (via association) in the mind, such a metaphor would NOT have been possible without the simile.

Similes matter greatly—as tools towards metaphor. Why?

Because (thank god) our minds are free to roam.

To summarize, one of the central strategies (and, to an extent, purposes) of the Japanese Haiku is to juxtapose two elements to test their synergy. This impulse is grounded in Shinto and Buddhist concepts of impermanence and structural malleability. That is, all things, even ideas and images, are subject to constant change—and such change is the most pervasive nature of perception.

The Haiku then becomes the perfect medium to test such changes. This principle is of central importance to me because it is rooted in non-dualistic (or non-binary) thinking.

The poem becomes the theatre in which fixed elements can be transformed, their borders subject to being dissolved, shifting towards something entirely new—to “create”, which is the Greek root to the word “poet.” The metaphor, then, is more like a chemical, whose elements (like hydrogen and oxygen), placed side by side, becomes water.

In this way, Buddhism’s influence on my work and, specifically, my use and understanding of metaphor, is a foundational QUEER praxis for alterity.

The reason why I emphasize the malleability of simile’s impact is that, although syntax and diction can aide a metaphor towards its more luminous embodiment, the ultimate key to its success is you, the observer.

YOU have look deeply and find lasting relationships between things in a disparate world.

In this sense, the practice of metaphor is also, I believe, the practice of compassion. How do I study a thing so that I might add to its life by introducing it to something else?

At its best, the metaphor is what we, as a species, have always done, at OUR best: which is to point at something or someone so different from us, so far from our own origins and say, “Yes, there IS a bond between us. And if I work long enough, hard enough, I can prove it to you—with this thing called language, this thing that weighs nothing but means everything to me.”

In the end, it is less about how you set up your metaphors (you will eventually find a way that suits it and you) but more about how you recognize your world. THAT is not easy to teach—it comes with patient practice, with a committed wonder for a world that at times might be too painful to look at. But you must and you should.

Good metaphors, in the end, come from writers who are committed to looking beyond what is already there, towards another possibility.

This calls that you see your life and your work as inexhaustible sites of discovery, and that you tend to them with care.

That’s it. That’s the true secret to a strong metaphor: care.

Lastly, I want to recommend the work of BIPOC poet and theorist, Thylias Moss, who discovered the Limited Fork Theory, a theory which suggests that the mind engages with the world, and especially with ideas, including text and art, the way the tines of a fork engage with a plate of food.

That is, only so much can be held on the work/mind with each attempt to consume, and that no “work” can be possessed in its entirety, which I find happily congruent with Lojong.

What a wonderful anti-imperialist and forgiving way to engage with our planet and its phenomena. Thank you, Mrs. Moss!

And thank YOU for sticking around through my little seminar.

I hope this has been helpful. Again, this is just my 2(5) cents! Now I’m going to sleep for four days.

In the meantime, me-ta-phors be with you.

—O

[purplerose244]

Irrational - Chapter 4: Study

Fourth day of the @spacecampweek, here I come! We’re talking ‘Freckles’! 😍

This is a short, fluffy one, with the participation of head over heels Seamus and oblivious Krel! Enjoy!! 💙💙

Summary: It had started as a random subject of a research during his free time. It had turned into a realization science could hardly explain.

Read it on the AO3

Krel was finally ready to put an end to this.

After all, at first, it had been all abound finding a way to pass time while Mrs. Janeth explained her limited understanding of math to the class. In all honesty, it could had been anyone else in that room, every single human might had caught his eyes during his desperate effort to find something interesting to do. It had turned out to be him probably because having another person besides himself appearing this bored – to the point of falling asleep, impressive – had been almost comforting. Giving a look had been normal, staring a natural consequence.

Then, he had noticed them.

Despite what absolute new environment was this planet, he had taken his time to discover a bit about this place. It had turned out that biological bodies possessed quite the variety of features, and those red dots were only a minuscule part of it. They were called ‘freckles’, defined as extra patches of coloring or pigment under the skin: a hereditary trait, typical of humans with clear skin and called ephelides by professional human healers. They apparently emerged as an over product of melanin, and they reacted to ultraviolet radiation – if their morning star was such a problem, how come they had not worked on a planetary shield yet? Ay ay ay, these humans.

Even with this knowledge and the awareness that it was nothing more than a few points, Krel hadn’t been able to look elsewhere. There was something fascinating about seeing theory applied into reality, even for a matter as simple as this – besides, anything was better than this lesson.

It had started like this.

Then, it had become a constant. A regular occurrence to hold on to.

His life was the very opposite of normal, his existence alone would have gained him that infamous ‘weirdo’ nickname even without his own apparently unnatural personality. There had been hardly a time where he had the benefit of having something to hold onto, his sister was his rock but with the arising danger the risk of losing her as well as their parents had made him grown restless. His mind was too much sometimes, highlighting every single thought. He had needed a distraction.

A study.

Of course, it was so simple! There was clearly a reason why that freckled face was so captivating to him, he needed to research, as always! When something other than fixing their ship to go back home had made its way into his mind, life had turned out to be a little less stressful.

Getting a good look at Seamus during lunch was awfully easy, the blonde himself always seemed interested in him – not sure why, perhaps Krel’s way of eating was almost too human like –, and it seemed like every time those red points doubled. He was sure of it, even during the skelteg situation, seeing him run away had been enough to notice the change – that occurrence had been particular, especially since Mary had given him such a smirk, was she aware of his experiment? –, concluding that there was definitely something going on. Between bounty hunters and school, the chances to take a look had been quite numerous, to the point he had noticed Seamus staring back sometimes, a scowl on his face – hard to tell if it was threatening or his natural expression.

Then the math duel had happened, some pleasantries had been exchanged, the subject had turned out to be someone he might had been interested even as a friend – hearing him looking at him in amazement later in Battle of the Bands had definitely helped –, yet somehow Krel had managed to forget to check on his face the entire time. Which was ridiculous, since he had been unable to think of anyone else but him, even after the delson was over.

What was worse, observation had turned out to be extremely difficult from that moment forward.

It was clear, the blonde was now aware of his study and was doing his best to prevent him from doing it. That had involved covering his face, turning away from him when he was around, and most of all activating biological defense mechanisms. Turning his face red in order to hide his pigments, a truly advanced tactic.

Luckily it worked only when Seamus noticed him staring. Seeing his freckles over his nice, relaxed, pink skin was quite the moment. Even a pleasant one.

More delsons had passed… more than they were supposed to.

Krel was still not back to Akiridion-5. They were still not home.

Not only that, but everything in his life was crumbling. Morando was still out there plotting who knew what, the Mothership was grounded with little chance to go back to fly, Varvatos was a traitor and had almost died for them and now had disappeared. It was piling all over, one brick over the other, it was getting hard to deal with everything. Aja had said it was going to be okay and that had been nice at first, but somehow infuriating later. What did she know? What if it wasn’t? what if it wasn’t going to work out, and they were only stalling the inevitable??

At the end, behind all of these problems, all uncertainties about the future, everything came down to this stupid, insignificant thought into his mind, the one that kept making him inevitably interested into that guy. His own most serious issues weren’t going to be solved anytime soon. If he could at least stop stressing over one thing, it was going to be for the best. It had started as a way to spend free time, but now… he was afraid of what it implied.

Steve had been useful for once, explaining to him where to find Seamus – “Good luck lovebird!”, he did not need that name after the birdie encounter. The theatre was not very crowded for now, he had been able to lean against the wall to wait without being bothered by humans. Today it felt like he could had lost his patience very easily.

At some point a group of guys exited the building, blues eyes crossed his.

There they were, those freckles. They were more than ever. He truly didn’t understand what was happening, why couldn’t he give it a rest and- ah, there it was again, that defense ability of his. Biological beings were such a mystery.

“Tarron?” Seamus blinked at him, confused. “Huh, uhm, hi, what are you doing here?” His friends waved at him with little grins, leaving them alone.

Krel breathed out, feeling the weight of everything ease a little from his shoulders. Huh.

“I am here for an experiment. I have been conducting it for some time now, I am sure you have noticed.” Judging from his confusion it seemed not, which made no sense considering his responding attention to his movements. “I have a certain fascination towards an aspect on you, and I would like to conduct one last test before leaving out the question once and for all. I am dealing with a difficult situation, I do not want any other problems getting in the way.”

“Problems…? Wait, f-fascination?” Oh, apparently there was no limit on how red this human could get. If only he wasn’t there to end his research he would have gladly tried to pick on this new topic. “F-for me? Huh, I mean… what experiment?”

“I will need you to stay still for me. I promise I will not harm you.”

“Whatever you wa- I mean, uhm, s-sure no problem!” Seamus was still staring, a little red, nodding his head. He looked in a way Krel couldn’t described. Not bad. Very nod bad.

“Very good. With your permission.”

It was only a study. He had weirder stuff in the past, especially during his skelteg interest phase – he had enough of those bugs for now –, this was nothing. Observation had brought him nothing, there was a chance tact was going to be useful and lips were the most sensible part of the human body. It only made sense, so he held Seamus’ cheeks and pressed his mouth over his freckles, between his eyes and his nose. Nothing. No difference in texture, nothing he could reasonably conclude. There really was no point into his tests. Despite the feeling of failure, there was something pleasant into touching warm human skin like this.

When he pulled away, a wave of shame hit him, as this problem wasn’t going to be solved and was going to be add to all the others. Then he looked up, seeing the freckles disappear once again, and the largest grin he had ever seen appear.

Seamus was giggling, eyes glimmering.

“That… that was… eheh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “… nice.”

“Nice? Really?” Krel was confused. Was his failure a joy for others? This human couldn’t be that cruel. “It is good to know I guess, because my study was a complete failure.”

“Your what now?”

“It does not matter… I should go.”

“What?! No, wait!” Humans could be quite swift. Even strong, at least judging from the way Seamus had clawed his shoulders. “You didn’t! I mean, I have no idea what this is about, but it wasn’t a failure, I promise!” There was still no trace of the freckles. It felt like this entire experience was place outside his comfort zone, Krel was starting to shake. Curiously… he didn’t hate it. “I liked that, I swear, I’ve been thinking about doing stuff like that with you for a while now!”

Krel widened his eyes. Stuff like that? Stuff like what? Checking the subject of his study? Allowing others to perform tests on him? Why was this confusing, he was never confused!

“I don’t understand…”

“You kissed me, you do understand! And it felt good, and I would like to do it more!”

Kissed?… wait.

“It felt good? Really?” Seamus nodded vividly, looking like he was dying to be understood. But… but that was ridiculous, it was only a brush between human skins. How could it be something pleasant to experience? “Does it truly feel this nice?

Seamus widened his eyes. He swallowed, stepping closer.

The prince felt a sudden wave of tension hit him.

“Yeah, it does. It’s like, well…” The blonde swallowed again, slowly holding up his chin. “It’s… it’s probably clearer through practice than theory.” His finger was shaking. Krel was also shaking. His blue eyes were getting closer and closer, bigger and deeper, something he had always known from the very beginning. Huh. Perhaps he didn’t notice his freckles alone. A sekton later they were closed, and the prince felt a pressure over his cheek. His entire body was enveloped by flames. His mind was emptied, finally free from pressure and pain. “… s-so?” Seamus was looking again, still with those enormous eyes, expecting a conclusion.

Krel was frozen. Oh. Huh. That was new. Feeling stupid. That was very new.

Those freckles were never multiplying, nor they were particularly engaging on a scientific level. They were Seamus’, he was getting closer. That had always made the difference.

A little smile arrived, because at last, he did have one answer.

“You’re right, it does feel nice.”

Seamus breathed out, looking relieved and so, so happy. So very endearing.

“Good. Great, awesome, I mean…” He reached out for him again, embracing him, close to his chest. Krel could hear his human heart. It was beating. What a very fascinating topic again. “D-does this mean the experiment is still on? Are you still gonna watch me during math class and all those times?” He did notice. He really was smart. Perhaps he wasn’t completely accurate at determining exactly the topic of the research, but he was close enough. Krel really liked that aspect of him. “Because, well, in case you want to go beyond observation and deepening the study, we could, I don’t know…” He laughed nervously, his hold tightening. “Uhm, deepening the research? Maybe d-during lunch or something?”

It felt like reaching a very high point in science. It felt like at least one thing was going right into his life. He was right, the research was still very much open and able to develop, it only had a wider subject now: the entirety of the Seamus Johnson.

The prince slowly smiled, welcoming the feeling of warmth over his face.

“I’d like that.”

[gunmetal-magnus]

And what if I can’t?  What if I’m not worthy of my ideals?

As I stare out my apartment window and watch the drizzling sky, I’m drawn to the subtle gradient of yellow.  Clouds coasting through the sky, gray yet without dismay.  And the sun?  The sun will live to break another day, that I am confident in.  I only wish I were so confident in myself.

....

Life is strange.  Mine in particular looks like it might be going in a good direction.  I’ve been getting interviews for jobs and as someone who’s spent their fair share of time hopelessly unemployed and depressed, not knowing what to do with themselves (besides salsaing with suicide ideation), I should be elated about any progress.  I wish I could say that I am or even that I was but that wouldn’t be accurate.  The truth is that I’m a harrowing hailstorm of things - surprisedsleepybusycuriousthankfuloptimisticexposedhorrifiedcriticalnervousanxiousinsecurepressuredtired - it’s all a bit overwhelming, isn’t it?

Knocking on the looming doors of success, I find myself feeling the crushing weight of my expectations.  The walls are a deafening white with not a texture or pattern in sight.  If you try to touch them they ripple like water.  There are no windows for me to peer through.  Fog creeps around me like a cheetah stalking its prey.  It’s so thick you could choke on it.  Success is...scary.

I know I know, that sounds a ridiculous thing to say, shouldn’t I be more afraid of failing?  Welllll...no.  You see, the weight I mentioned earlier was not merely crushing, it was also comforting.  Over time failure became familiar and eventually, my friend.  I got used to failure as the status quo, smothered in its cosy embrace and the threat of change, of combing out of this embrace into the chilling embrace of uncertainty, of becoming someone worthy of their success - it’s unfamiliar, it’s scary.  But just what is so comforting about not achieving your goals - about not getting what you really want?  For me it’s because of one paralyzing question: And what if I can’t?  What if I’m not worthy of my ideals?

“But…I’m…I’m just a soldier, I-I’m not worthy.”

It’s a terrifying prospect that I could give something my all and find that I just couldn’t do it.  I don’t want to be saying “I did my best and it wasn’t good enough,” because what I may mean is “I wasn’t good enough.  I don’t have the power.”  But that’s exactly the point!  I do have the power and if that is true then I have to come to terms with my responsibility to that power - that it’s up to me to use that power because when you can do the things that you can do...and then the bad things happen...they happen because of you.  I don’t want that burden so it’s easier to cast it off and reinvent the narrative by claiming powerlessness.  It’s easier to identify as a fraud and be done with it, to say to myself “men like me should’ve never dared to believe.”

Haha…paradoxically in our journey to discover our own power we discover just how little power we hold, that our only power is in ourselves.  Time and how bound we are to what we know at present, our surrounding circumstances, and the fact that we’re only people who can only do people things - these serve to remind us that the power of what we control and free will are only so vast.  It’s strange - you are responsible for how you use your power but not the outcome because you’re not omnipotent.  Bad things don’t always happen because of you.  Sometimes they just happen.  Sometimes things in general...just happen.

Let’s say I achieve success, what then?  The pressure to maintain is immense and to exceed - it’s even more so.  Who perpetuates this pressure?  For many of us it’s society but the greater threat lies within the darkness of our own hearts.  The societal gaze is nothing without validation and that validation comes from our self-worth and how grossly entangely that is with achieving success.  There is an expectation of linearity and escalation in progress, if you get good grades you’re expected to keep getting good grades and then some, so it’s shocking and disappointing when you don't.  People wonder how that could’ve happened, you wonder how it could’ve happened, you start to doubt yourself...should you though?  Writer and retired athlete Christopher Bergland challenges the expectation of linearity in success and explained in a conversation with his daughter, “I learned as an athlete that in order to succeed and become the best that I could be, I had to fail again and again—but always keep trying. Inevitably, every time I raised the bar, and took on a new athletic challenge, I would have to fail first in order to ultimately succeed and break a record." He embraced failure as part of the ebb and flow, it was part of success.  To him, failure was no reason for doubt.  So why should it be for me?  I don’t know, because life’s not that simple I suppose?  Identifying as unworthy and fraudulent, these are not easy to shake.  Negative self-identity manifests itself in habitual self-sabotage.  Worrying about how we align with our perceptions of ourselves, procrastination via instant gratification distractions like Instagram scrolling and going back on our promises such as taking that drink we know we shouldn’t become commonplace - habitual and they will take habitual work to undo them.

Even so, is this really just about the burden of ideals?  Perhaps not.  Susanne Babbel writes in her article “Fear of Success'' that the physiological reactions to trauma and excitement over success are similar - too similar. “When we experience a traumatic event — such as a car accident or a school bullying incident — our body associates the fear we experience with the same physiological feelings we get while excited.”  Heart tensions, shortness of breath, quivering and more - they are triggered in me by both stimuli and my body cares not for the messenger, only the message and that message is “be afraid.”  

if I’m responding to excitement as if it were trauma, the question is what is my trauma?  

…

Babbel mentions that throughout our lives, we may be made to feel less than, “many of us — especially if we've been subject to verbal abuse — have been told we were losers our whole lives, in one way or another. We have internalized that feedback and feel that we don't deserve success.”  I knew someone who made me feel like this, I called her my mum.  I spent a lifetime being told by her in one way or another that I wasn’t good enough.  I remember being dragged into the unlit attic by her for losing a crayon as a child, I remember being shouted at for getting some mediocre grades in junior high school - being told that I better do better, I remember being told that she had given up hope on me - I remember, all of it.  We don’t talk anymore - except we do.  I internalised her voice and I made it my own, I began to identify with failure.  I have an excerpt from an old journal entry that illustrates this identity crisis all too well.

                                                                                                                               5.11.20

“Sometimes I really wonder

If it’s better

To be a 

Fuckup

Than a Success

Without

The Interesting Mess.

...Why do I have to compromise the things that make me who I am to be happy?...Why can’t I have my misery?...I hate doing the right thing...Maybe I like being a failure, a mess, a no man’s man.”

By this time I had long since left home but you can’t outrun your demons, only challenge them.  I have only begun to unravel this voice due the therapy I have recently completed and am fighting this battle every day.  Sometimes I lose and they gain territory.  Other times I manage to reclaim it and even add more.  It’s an endless battle.

And yet, the voice of Failure clings to me like some foul smog.  Since he doesn’t want to let me try and fall, he’ll say, “It’s comfortable here.  Flounder into the fondue of failure, it’s what you know - it suits you.  What precisely is so wrong with failure in the first place?”

…

It’s a good question.  In an ideal world, the answer may be, “nothing in particular,” because I don’t need to succeed to be valid - do the people you love need to be successful for you to love them?  I should hope not.  However, it is not so simple for me to love myself.  Failure will cost me something more than money and a career.  The price of failure is stagnation, embracing the non-linearity of progress and I hate that.  I’m grossly impatient and want to move forward with my life, not wallow in the depths of Misery Mires.  I’ve been stuck here all my life and I’ve just begun the journey out of here.  Failure, as far as I’m concerned, you don’t suit me as well as you think.  I must change sometime because I don’t want to die in the claws of the demons from which I was born.

I can’t stay in my comfort zone.  Yet I can - I’d even quite like to.  Why?  Because...because...deep down I’m still reconciling with the idea that I’m worthy, that I’m worthy of living a life worth living, that I can be what I say I am without fear that it’s all a lie and always will be.  The only way for me to challenge such a belief is to fly in the face of it - to say that “I am worthy” and to act like I mean it, whatever that means - I don’t quite know yet.  My therapist and I agreed that this would be a long road and that ideals are nothing without practice.  I guess all I can do now is drive…

“If you aren’t worthy, you’ll keep trying until you are.”   In order for me to be worthy of my ideals, I first need to believe that I even have a shot.  Beyond that, I need to believe that I deserve to take it. Being worthy means recognising my power to change and the responsibility to act that  comes with that.  Simultaneously, my power is not all-controlling as I am only a person.  Success isn’t linear and failure is a part of that.  However the burden of trauma is heavy.  The self-sabatory habits I picked up from that will require me to reinvent my self-identity and in turn deconstruct those habits.   Lastly and perhaps most importantly, I need to be willing to give the process time.  Can I?  Haha! - s-sure, why not?

Perhaps one day I will find myself staring out into the sky - maybe it’s drizzling, maybe it’s not.  Maybe through an apartment window, maybe in a lush field as the gentle breeze brushes by.  The clouds are coasting by as they always have, slowly but surely.  What colour are they?  Who cares, I don’t even know what colour the sky will be.  Maybe it’s illuminated with a lovely peach pink that reaches out and touches the heart of my inner romantic.   Maybe it’s an apocalyptic red that leaves you weak in the knees - the possibilities are endless but it doesn’t matter - it doesn’t matter what may be.  What matters is what will be and 

I will be watching.

I’ll say I’m worthy and

I will mean it.

I don’t know yet know how

But I will

Because that’s what I’ve decided.

[bonscottintheimpala]

Can I make a request if it’s still open?💖what about something like y/n wants to seduce jimmy in the most effective way but she’s lost and asks other members of Led Zeppelin to give her tips and carry them out?😂 the result could be anything, like, some in vein others did great jobs, or he finds the attempts adorable, or he gets jealous or anything.

I think I did this already, so I'll copy and paste. 🙂

-

Moby Dick Is A Wonderful Song

(Word count: 1,567) EXPLICIT

-

You're with the band at the venue in Inglewood. It's March 27, the night of the band's final concert of the ‘75 tour. Tensions are pretty high in their dressing room; you can almost feel the anxiety and simultaneous excitement thick in the air. But, sitting on a sofa in the middle of the dressing room, you're distracted from the loud voice of Peter Grant shouting the time left before the show starts and Bonzo clashing on a tabletop by one very specific thing in the room.

Jimmy had come in slightly late, already wearing his dragon suit bottoms but not the top. And, of course, he had decided to put the intricately embroidered jacket on after you came into the room with Robert ten minutes earlier. You can't take your eyes off of the lean muscles moving over his shoulders as he takes off his shirt, tensing and relaxing when he replaces it with the dragon suit top. You jump when someone bumps your shoulder, and turn to find Robert giving you a knowing smirk.

"You aren't being very vague about that, (Y/N),” he teases, “If he was looking over here he'd tell that you were checking him out.”

You roll your eyes and smack him on the arm. “Shut up, Rob. If he was looking over here, I wouldn't be watching his back and dying about it. And besides, he doesn't really give off the air of being interested.”

“I've known him for a while. Trust me, (Y/N), he can look like he isn't interested even if he's just itching to get with someone.”

You sigh and turn back to Jimmy. He's sitting in a chair in the far left corner of the dressing room with his Les Paul in hand, tuning the strings carefully as not to break one. You notice his eyes flicker up to look at you for a fraction of a second, then he's back to his guitar. You know that Robert's right. You've only really known the band for two years, and Percy has been around Jimmy for a little over six. You're pretty sure the singer knows his bandmate well enough by now to understand how the guitarist works. Robert nudges you again to get your attention. The smirk is back on his face.

"I have an idea to see if he's into you. We try to be really cuddly and all that shit around him. Hopefully it annoys him enough to get him to do something.”

You raise an eyebrow, questioning the proposition. “Won't he think that I like you that way, though?”

Percy waggles his finger at you. “Yet another thing to tell you. If he wants someone and they don't seem interested, he'll end up letting them know that he's the interested one. Again, (Y/N), I've known him for a while.”

Yet another point well made. “Okay, then. How do we go about this? Just pretend that you're saying something risque to me and I laugh like a fucking idiot?”

"Exactly. Then at Moby Dick, you come back here and best case scenario he follows you, too.”

The plan seems to be working perfectly, because after a few moments of exchanging stories to make you laugh and Robert puts an arm around you, he brings his mouth closer to your ear. “Don't look now, but Jimmy just stared at me like he wanted to kill me. So safe to say it’s going very well.”

You nod. “So I’ll come back here right before Moby Dick?”

"It’d be a good idea to go back earlier. Maybe when he starts his solo during Trampled Underfoot. I'll tell him where you'll be and I'm sure he's going to come straight here.”

The two of you just knowingly smile at each other. Jimmy is actually into you.

-

It feels like ages until the solo of Trampled Underfoot finally starts. You and Robert had secretly decided on a signal for you to go back to the dressing room; he'd do his usual hair flip, but follow it instantly with a spin. Which, of course, was not exactly a major surprise. You've been watching the singer since there song started, hardly even blinking. Once he gives the signal, you practically run for the dressing room, but not before you just catch Jimmy looking at you as you do.

The wailing of Jimmy's guitar slowly fades when you get closer to the room, and it's completely silent once the door is closed behind you. It's kind of eerie; the lack of people and no hint of music gives you goosebumps that make you shiver. It's either that, or the anticipation of Jimmy hopefully joining you, but it's almost impossible to tell which. You lounge on the sofa where you had been sitting with Robert at least an hour and a half -maybe even two hours- earlier. Staring up at the ceiling is all you can really think of doing other than just pacing around.

If I'm just walking everywhere looking at things like I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, I'll look like a dumbass, you think to yourself as you keep your ears trained on the hallway outside, listening for any hint of footsteps that could be coming close. And then, after what seems like hours have passed, you can faintly hear the sound of someone almost sprinting down towards the dressing room door. Your heart starts to pound in your chest the louder they get, and it all comes to a stop when the door opens. Standing there, his long black hair sticking to his sweat soaked face, is James Patrick fucking Page.

Neither of you say anything for a minute, just stare at each other with wide eyes. Jimmy’s the first to talk.

“So…. Percy told me you’d be back here.”

"And did he say why?”

The guitarist steps forward so he can close the door behind him, still watching you. “He did. You two were pretty fucking sly about all that.” You stand up and can’t keep your breath from shaking as he gets closer and stands in front of you. “He didn’t, however, say exactly what the reason was for you to be back here.”

"I guess he thought it’d be nice to give us some time together. To just confirm if you actually do like me.”

"Do you think I’d be here if I didn’t? And after all,” he adds, his voice now slipping into a smooth and sweet tone that makes your breath hitch, “You know exactly what Bonzo’s drum solo gives time for. And which is why Rob will come here to let us know when it’s getting time for me to go back so I don’t miss anything.”

You nod before you start to move the dragon suit top from his shoulders with shaking hands. He notices because he asks, “Are you really sure you want to do this, (Y/N)?”

You laugh. “You have no idea how much. I'm mostly shaking because I'm so surprised you even came here.”

Jimmy holds your face. “We’ve taken up five minutes.” Your stomach goes light and your head seems to be an incoherent mess of thousands of words when Jimmy presses his lips to yours. The contrasting textures between his fingers is just as intense; the rough calluses on the fingertips of right hand tingle your skin as they trail up your spine under your shirt, while the opposite smooth of his left hand slide gently along your lower back.

It isn’t long until everything gets heavier. Your clothes are strewn on the rug covered concrete floor below the sofa, while Jimmy is on top of you with his hand between your legs. It’s obvious that he’s extremely skilled in the art of fingering, and you’re convinced without a doubt that it’s because of how much he’s played guitar.

He’s drawing out loud cries of his name from your mouth and has your legs shaking from the flow of sharp vibrations down from somewhere deep in your core that make the muscles below your stomach pulsate at a steadily faster pace.

And then everything is surging in strong waves out from the spot his fingers are inside of you and through your entire body.

The trembling that follows each flow of energy through you eases down to just intermittent aftershocks and then completely breathless relaxation that leaves your head light and eyes closed. You can’t help but only smile and sigh as Jimmy kisses you again with a sweet softness which makes your heart flutter. The guitarist turns his head towards the door as a knock echoes from the other side.

“Bonzo’s gonna be done in probably five minutes, Pagey, you should get in order and backstage as quick as possible.”

"Okay, Percy, I’ll be out in a bit.”

You open your eyes to look back up at him. “I think I’m actually calmed down enough to tell you that you’re very good with your fingers. Absolutely fucking incredible, I couldn’t even think straight for I don’t even know how long.”

Jimmy kisses your forehead before getting off of you and starting to redress. “And you’re quite loud, (Y/N). I’m glad I could satisfy so well.”

You sit up and pick your clothes up off the floor and begin to get somewhat presentable. “Would it be possible to continue after the concert back at the hotel?”

Jimmy shrugs the dragon suit top back on. “I think that’s a great idea that I will agree with. Now let’s get back to everyone else. And make sure to stay calm until we’re at the hotel.”

[adhdstudybitch]

Practical Tips for ADHD College Students

I know a few posts like this already exist, but I wanted to add my own experiences to the mix in case it would be helpful to someone else. Some of these will look familiar, some not so much.

Disclaimers: 1) What works for me may not work for you, take everything with a grain of salt and experiment, 2) These are what I’m using for a 4-year school but I imagine it would be applicable for any college? I wish I’d known to do some of these things when I was at CC, 3) I won’t pretend that I am an ADHD success story, not yet. I’m still finding my way, learning to cope, learning to thrive. It’s a process.

NOTE: This post is kinda long; if it’s too long I recommend just reading the bolded/italicized headings and only reading the ones that pique your interest :)

Sensory Issues:

Wear comfortable clothing: Screw the mentality that you always have to look your best in college. At the end of the day, feeling hot but ridiculously uncomfortable will trigger sensory issues (especially if you’re someone who is sensitive to certain materials/styles of clothing) and it will impact concentration and can cause a lot of distress. Are you comfortable in those sweatpants, pajama bottoms, baggy shirts? Cool, wear them. 

Stim toys: Love yourself, buy (or make!) stim toys and bring them to school. Can’t speak for CC because I didn’t use stim toys when I went, but at my 4-year school everyone is too busy drowning in deadlines to notice you squishing thinking putty or using a fidget cube under the table. 

Try different stim toys: I used to get caught up on trying to make the more popular stim toys work for me when they didn’t, so I had to experiment a bit to see what worked. It’s not always as simple as cubes, spinners, squishy toys, etc. If you have issues with texture you’ll want to really experiment, especially with things like putty, squishibles, etc. to see what is comfortable and what isn’t. But there’s a big ol’ market out there!

Headphones/Earplugs: The single most helpful sensory detail for me was always bringing my headphones to campus. I get easily overstimulated in uncontrolled situations with lots of different sounds. I make sure my volume is enough to block the noise out, but the songs I choose in these instances are usually familiar, so they don’t provide too much new stimulation when I can’t handle it. I also keep earplugs in my backpack for exams.

Studying/School Related:

If possible, leave your house: This has been one of the hardest changes I’ve had to make because I’m an introvert and genuinely prefer being home. But I’m starting to learn that my ass will not do work 9/10 times when I’m home. Too much to do, too many other things to get done, lots of fun distractions, and cats! So many cats! Unfortunately cats won’t take my exams. I’ve found that the library is okay, but for me small cafes worked much better. Armed with my headphones, some coffee, and an atmosphere that caters to silently getting work done, I’m able to focus longer, and to focus on what I really need to.

Note-taker: Admittedly I’m talking out of my ass on this one, because I haven’t yet done this. But that’s exactly why I want to stress getting a note-taker. My college life would be infinitely better if I’d done this when the semester started; instead, my notes have gaps where I couldn’t concentrate, or couldn’t process what was being discussed, etc. 

Other accommodations: Accommodations for ADHD differ depending on the college, but some of the common ones are: note-takers, silent exam spaces, assignment extensions, and use of tech such as recorders, speech-to-text software... If you’re like I was and are worried that you’re asking too much asking for accommodations, remember two important things: 1) Accommodations exist to level the playing field, not to give us an edge, and 2) YOU PAY FOR THIS SERVICES. That huge, overwhelming tuition bill with all those “extra fees”? You’re paying for these services already, might as well take advantage of them!

Talk to your professors: This part is truly terrifying for me, but I’ve started opening up this semester to my professors and it has made a difference. The professor for my hardest class actually has a son with adhd so she understood and was even able to provide me with some resources that would help. At the very least, it made my professors aware of my struggles and aware that I wasn’t just being lazy, which calmed my RSD a bit.

Organization: Staying organized is important for any college student, but especially for those with adhd. We lose things a lot, and if things aren’t in obvious, constant places it becomes so much easier to lose or forget where we put things. That being said, your ‘organized’ will probably not be other peoples ‘organized’. For example, I use my Ipsy bags for organization. One holds any writing utensils, flashcards, and post-its, another holds anything medical-related, etc. It seems a bit cluttered and disorganized to other people but it works for me. So try keeping things in the same spot if possible, but remember that finding what organizational structures work for you might take time and effort. If your school has success coaching, I highly recommend it for this purpose! Which brings me to the next point.

Success Coaching: Most colleges offer some kind of program like this, though names may differ. Success Coaching is designed for students of any academic level in order to help them get and stay on track. My college offers study skills, schedule planning, test prep, time management, help navigating campus resources, and a whole host of others. And the people doing the coaching are usually grad students who’ve been through the process. They’re typically trained in working with students with adhd, because that tends to be a significant portion of their students. They’re also just really nice to talk to. Almost like a therapist, but not quite.

Really forgetful? The best thing you can do is change your environment, not try to change yourself. You probably won’t be able to stop your brain from forgetting your notebook at home, but you can get a five subject and keep it in your backpack at all times. Same with folders. Keep losing pens/pencils? Just get a fuckton and shove them in a pouch in your backpack in the beginning of the semester. I’m not kidding when I say I have at least 20 pens and pencils in mine, not including the glitter pens and highlighters. 

Planners: Many people have said that it will take time to find just the right planner for you, and they’re correct. The planner I use right now is 8x11 with wide boxes. Some prefer smaller planners, others will use planner apps or just the calendar in their phone. You’ll have to mess around a bit to see what works for you, but you do have options!

Printables: Oh man I love printables so much, but a lot of the time I find that they’re more trouble maintaining than my adhd can handle. You can find a ton on tumblr, free to download and print, and some very beautiful packs for sale on etsy. Right now I use a monthly budget printable and one for studying terms/definitions. Sometimes the adhd mind needs something pretty and different to cling to, so I try to switch things up every so often.

Color-coding: This absolutely will not work for everyone (I’ve seen people say color-coding notes gets the hung up on the coding and not the notes, and I can definitely see that happening). For me, I use color-coding in my planner. Each class gets its own color. This keeps me from seeing a page covered in the same color of ink or pencil and mentally blocking it out. Gelly roll has the most amazing glitter pens!

Test prep: Will vary depending on the person and how they learn best, but for me I’ve found that no one method will work on its own. I have class notes, typed notes, hand-written flashcards, flashcards on quizlet. I won’t pretend that it’s easy; it’s fuck-all time consuming and sometimes I don’t have energy for it, but depending on the class I usually need a combination of at least two different methods to work. This is definitely something success coaching can work with you to figure out!

General Life Advice (that will impact college):

Get on a sleep schedule: I don’t even care what your particular schedule is (because it’ll vary person to person) but just get on one. Much easier said than done, because our brains never want to shut up at night, but lack of a consistent sleep schedule will mess with your concentration, focus, hypersensitivity, etc. 

I’ll just do this later...: is the adhd monster talking. What even is later? Does it exist? Sometimes I have to tell myself “nope, we’re doing this right now!” Doesn’t always work, but I try my hardest to do things in the moment if executive dysfunction isn’t at my door.

Develop a support system: This can be difficult because sometimes making and maintaining friendships with adhd can be hard, and sometimes family members aren’t very receptive or supportive. But a strong support system can make all the difference in the world! If your current friends don’t understand the extent of what you’re dealing with, send some resources their way and you might be surprised how fast they get in your corner. But sometimes people without adhd just don’t get it. If your college has a meet-up for students with adhd like mine does, this is a great place to meet like-minded students who understand what you’re going through and can provide support and advice! 

I’m going to stop this here because it’s already too long, but I hope this is helpful to someone and I’d love it if you could add your own tips as well! 

[royalrumormonger]

RoyalRumormonger’s 10 Most Liked Wedding Gowns

Let me preface this by saying this is based on my own personal style and taste.

10)  Mette Marit Tjessem Høiby, Crown Princess of Norway: Ove Harder Finseth

The clean lines and unusual visual texture create such a dreamy cloud-like gown. I like the homage to Queen Maud. This kind of square neckline and silhouette is so flattering on Mette Marit. I oddly like the quirky bouquet that echos the vertical folds of the skirt. The only thing I would change is to add a simple pair of earrings to round out the look.

9) Alessandra de Osmo, Princess of Hanover: Jorge Vázquez

This gown checks all the boxes for a perfect “Royal wedding gown”. Its got lace, its got a high neckline, its got 3/4 length sleeves. What more could you want? The tiara is stunning too. The only thing that keeps it from being placed higher on my list is the mini sweetheart neckline under the lace. It looks like it’s too tight and is a slightly awkward shape.

8) Meghan Markle, the Duchess of Sussex: Clare Waight Keller for Givenchy

This gown is simple, but elegant, and is the kind of look I had hoped she would wear. I love the clean lines of the neckline and silhouette. Is the tailoring kind of messed up? Yes, but it doesn’t bother me that much. The floral veil embroidery and stunning tiara are the main reasons why it is one of my favorite wedding looks. 

Catherine Middleton, the Duchess of Cambridge: Sarah Burton for Alexander McQueen

The construction of this gown is hard to beat. I mean lining underneath the train with heavy canvas to prevent it from bunching while the bride is walking? So genius! That’s why I question the need for someone to carry the train while entering the church. Other than that (and the fit around the bust), it is perfect. I love the lace, I love the design of the skirt, I love the bustle. The veil and tiara are beautifully understated. Looking back, I would definitely soften up the look of her makeup, but that’s me being picky.

7) Katharine Worsley, the Duchess of Kent: John Cavanagh

This is such a classic gown, but with a little twist. The fabric has an unusual pearlescent pattern to it. There is something about the combination of her hair, the veil, and this bandeau tiara that I absolutely adore.

6) Queen Margrethe of Denmark: Jørgen Bender

I know some people don’t like this gown, but it’s not as hated as my next pick. The simplicity of this gown is what makes it work. I love the square neckline and the pleated skirt. The heirloom lace panel in the middle adds interest without taking attention away from the rest of the look. I love the daisy brooch pinned to the middle as a tribute to her mother and grandmother. (Once again I must mention my love of the Danish royal family tradition of wearing this tiara and lace veil!)

5) Letizia Ortiz Rocasolano, the Queen of Spain: Manuel Pertegaz

I really don’t understand why so many people dislike the collar of this gown. To me it adds such a regal air to the look. The silhouette is also very flattering. The gown was made of silk fabric that was woven with silver thread to give it a special sheen which is beautiful. I think the silver and gold embroidery is done sparingly, so it doesn’t overwhelm the rest of the look. The veil, tiara, and the matching fan are just the icing on the cake.

4) Beatrice Borromeo: Armani Privé

I would include all of her wedding looks, but that would make this already long list even longer. The ones that stand out in my mind are her religious ceremony gown shown above, and her reception gown shown below. The lace gown for the ceremony is just perfect. There is nothing bad I can say about this gown. I love the delicate lace and simple shape. The long train and veil are stunning. Her whole look is one that I would wear for my own wedding.

The reception gown look is what dreams are made of.  The angel wing brooches pinned to the back is such a wonderful detail. The long train just tops off the perfection that is this look.

3) Claire Lademacher, Princess of Luxembourg: Elie Saab

It’s Elie Saab, what else needs to be said? Claire looked stunning. I adore this kind of scroll motif pattern and the silhouette is so flattering. The slight difference in color between the fabric and the embroidery/applique makes the details photograph well. The veil is gorgeous and I especially love her choice of tiara.

Stephanie de Lannoy, Hereditary Grand Duchess of Luxembourg: Elie Saab

Once again, it’s Elie Saab. The silver leaf appliques and dreamy lace are to die for. Stephanie looked ethereal! The way the train draped down the stairs inside the cathedral made my heart stop. Just stunning! The only thing I can be picky about is the placement of the tiara, but that’s no big deal.

2) Princess Sofia of Greece and Denmark, Queen of Spain: Jean Dessès

This gown is how you do over the top without looking like a cake topper. I really wish there were better photographs of this gown because it is a work of art. Using silver lamé to back that antique lace is genius! I love the gentle shimmer peaking through. The cape/train adds some interest to the back and the veil with the tiara is stunning.

1) Jane McNeill, Duchess of Buccleuch: ???

I love lace, what can I say? This is my ultimate wedding gown and I would wear this look in a heartbeat. That silhouette is breathtaking! I adore the way the lace mimics the Mayflower tiara and how the simple veil doesn’t distract from the gown. I also like the thin belt that highlights her waist. 10/10!

***Honorable Mention: 

Mary of Teck, Queen of the United Kingdom: Arthur Silk

I have a soft spot for wedding gowns from this era and a soft spot for Queen Mary (the literal icon of this blog!). The materials are to die for! The silk used was patterned with the emblems of shamrock, thistles, and roses. The trimmings were silver thread, Honiton lace, and orange blossoms. Swoon! She also wore her mother’s veil and wore the wedding gift tiara from Queen Victoria tucked behind a spray of orange blossom.

[scoundrels-in-love]

Apodyopis and/or Gymnophoria for JB

Thank you for prompting, sweet anon! I haven’t written much of the simmering stuff, but I hope I did it justice. Also so sorry for taking literally, like a month. I wrote this halfway up and then deleted, plus, work’s been kicking my ass so… Again, very sorry.

This takes place in a Actor!Jaime and Makeup artist!Brienne verse that I started writing one shot of a while back, hopefully it will see light of day sometime, too. (Would love to hear if anyone’s interested in it!)

Apodyopis - The act of mentally undressing someone.Gymnophoria - The sensation that someone is mentally undressing you.

Also on AO3.

_____

The wrap up party has barely begun when one of the stylist assistant approaches her and Podrick. Brienne politely tunes out their conversation, tries not to pay attention to the girl’s slightly smudged eyeliner that her hands immediately itch to fix (professional habit) and almost misses when Podrick asks her if she won’t mind.

“Of course not,” Brienne says, only about seventy percent sure to what she’s agreeing, but it seems she was right and as she watches Podrick being dragged to dancefloor, a smile on his face that implies he’s still processing this turn of events, but rather happy with them. She hopes her expression is encouraging when he glances back at her.

After exchanging nod of mutual, pained understanding with Sandor, Brienne tugs hemline of her dress down (again, because it refuses to stay there for more than five minutes or twenty steps) and sets off to wander among the crowd. She isn’t exactly looking for Sansa, as she hasn’t figured excuse to leave early just yet, but there’s hope inspiration will strike her soon.

It’s not that she hates her coworkers or the startled, pleasant warmth in her chest when someone stops her to praise her design and work on Night King - quite the opposite, really. But she always feels adrift during social gatherings and parties that come with show business. 

She’s gotten better at it, in part because as a friend and employee she can’t exactly say no to Sansa’s invites, yet she still always feels like a salmon trying to make its way upstream - a success, but at what cost?

Brienne catches glimpse of redhead then, she’s standing with Jaime and eyerolling at one of his jokes, while most of the other women in the small group giggle. Gauging a good time to approach, Brienne watches them. Tries to not pay attention to the way his costar keeps touching her hair and his elbow. He ignores it better than she does.

“I don’t mix work and pleasure,” he always says, but every woman who has been kept at bay by this thinks it’s free game now, at the wrap up party. They’re not co-workers anymore, not really. Tonight, they don’t hide the way their gazes pop open the next button on his blue shirt, slide the pale jacket off of his shoulders and run caresses down his arms.

Brienne swallows then, suddenly almost feeling the texture of his shirt under her fingers - just yesterday, she fixed his collar in passing when he rushed out of his trailer, almost late for lunch meeting with Tyrion. But it hadn’t been like that, she hadn’t thought of the way muscles in his stomach tense at her touch when they’re in makeup trailer and she’s applying bruise to his torso. The heat of his skin and the way his Adam’s apple bobs when she leans in close to add a final touch to his face. The moan he makes when taking bite of his favorite takeout on their movie nights. The weight of him when he had pressed into the couch in attempt to reclaim remote control she had wrestled from his hand a minute earlier.

She’s thinking of it all and so much more now.

There is no way she can go talk to Sansa, face Jaime, until her splotchy blush has subsided, so Brienne turns away and does her best to distract herself from distressingly, increasingly familiar detour her thoughts had taken.

She succeeds so well that when Jaime surprises her by the buffet table, she almost jumps at the sound of his voice.

“You should probably stop doing that.”

Her fingers freeze where they’ve been trying to discreetly tug the skirt of her short black dress down at the seam. It doesn’t look horrible, but Sansa’s jealousy of her long legs manifests in fierce attempts to have Brienne show them off as much as possible and sometimes she succumbs, only to regret later.

She finishes the tug, out of principle, but when she looks at Jaime’s face, it’s not the usual light, amused expression her displays of stubbornness. Instead, there is something tense in the line of his jaw, quirk of his mouth.

“Every time you do, I end up staring at your legs even more.”

Her first instinct is to coil up in defensive position at the echo of hurt, reminiscent of their early acquaintanceship days. But she knows Jaime now - this isn’t the tone, the expression with which he’d imply her legs are so unsightly redirecting gaze to them is an offense.

She’s seen this tension, too, but never deciphered quite what it means and it unnerves her, makes her wonder if she knows him after all.

“Sorry?” Brienne keeps her tone neutral, trying not to show the mounting irritation, but doesn’t succeed entirely.

He shifts closer to her, as if to slip by the barrier she is building. “Oh, I don’t mind in the slightest.”

Jaime’s tone makes her gaze snap to his face from where its been wandering aimlessly over his shoulder. His voice is low in a way that makes her shiver almost and when he catches her eye, he has the gall to smirk before deliberately looking down at her legs to prove his words. 

The heat of his gaze is so palpable it almost feels like caress on her skin - light, appreciative fingers starting their journey upward from her ankles until tips of his fingers tease their way under the hem of her dress, resting there. The imagery is so vivid in her mind, Brienne lets out a shaky breath she can barely hear over her heart’s hammering. By the way he’s looking at her, glowing with smugness and something more, her little fantasy must’ve been written clearly on her face.

Or maybe he was thinking the same.

The mere idea sends another rush of heat to her face (and elsewhere.) She must be her splotchiest red now, the color blaring through her light makeup like a firetruck. She opens her mouth, without knowing what to say, but he beats her to it.

“I am not sure that’s the result you’re going for, though.”  It sounds like a question, somehow, as if he’s asking if she minds. And Jaime’s expression is almost tentative now, in a way that makes no sense to her.

But she would take offense if it was anyone else, wouldn’t she? A little more and the caress would become leering sort that makes her shudder instead of shiver in anticipation (of things that will not come).

It’s not a new realization, this want. She keeps hoping it will die unattended in a corner of her heart, but it grows like a beautiful weed from the slightest scraps thrown its way. And tonight, staring in his hesitant (hopeful) eyes, she almost has the words to express it. Something flirty would do, borrowed from Margaery’s repertoire, as she leans in closer and glances down to his lips –

“Brienne! There you are!” Sansa’s voice bursts the shimmering bubble and Brienne jolts, her mouth parted around the unsaid words, looking like an utter idiot. She thinks she catches a dazed look and then a sea spray of annoyance on Jaime’s face before he schools it into polite smile for their host.

“I was afraid you had slipped away without a word,” her friend seems oblivious to all this, thank the gods, and loops arm through Brienne’s. “You should spend some time with someone else than a Lannister for a change, Brie. Especially if he’s just wasting your time.” She doesn’t have time to process odd exchange of looks between her friends before Sansa tugs on her arm: “Everyone here has such high praise to you and your team, you ought to hear it yourself.”

“Oh no, it’s fine-” she tries to protest, but this is not a tide she can sail against, and now that she has regained her faculties, it doesn’t seem like a bad idea to be busy and as far from Jaime as possible. She must re-calibrate her Jaime-translator before she ends up looking like an utter fool. So she lets Sansa sweep her away into the crowd, imagining Jaime’s gaze clinging to her back and willing her heart to calm down in both heart rate and longing.