#it's a nosebleed

[clawz-loopz]

They haven't even kissed yet. Somebody save them

[canisalbus]

✦ Epistaxis ✦

[vamprisms]

when you say you love fucked up freak characters that had better extend to female characters too and not just the men you want to write horny self insert fanfiction about

[inkskinned]

i got my isbn today for the book. 8 months to go. my mom and i were talking about what the next steps are. i was eating trail mix, standing on one foot, phone tucked into my ear.

"yeah," i said. "the problem is that tumblr as a market is like, not something that can be studied." there's this weird wave of nostalgia and affection for this place that came up over me: how lovely we avoid consumerism. okay, it sucks as a creator. but also? keep stickin' it to 'em.

my mother made the sound at the back of her throat that i also make, the one that means i've got an idea. "you should figure out some kind of reward for presale amounts. maybe you give out poems or a mug or a signed book or something. would your followers like that?" my mother is sweet, and kind, and i have no idea how to explain on this website you can buy someone crabs.

i put more m&ms down the hatch. i had to speak through peanuts and almonds. "if it passes 25 thousand i will print the book out in its entirety and eat it live on camera."

"oh god. no, you don't have to do that." she was anguished. "just tell them that you'd love them to read it, and that they've inspired you to write. you got started on that site, and they helped you keep going. raquel, you love these people. the community? you talk all the time about the other writers and artists and whatever else. tell them that you're hoping for their support, they'll come through."

"no," i assured her. i discovered i had dropped an m&m, but an ant had already found it, so it belonged to him now. i will let his little life have a surprise blue treasure in it, too. "i'm gonna fuckin' eat the book."

[alliekitaguchi]

THE POSSIBILITIES OF THE NEXT EPISODE ARE SENDING ME INTO ORBIT:

Veth & Braius - the horniest throw down of all time feat Sam (x2)

Caleb & Dorian - Caleb (Liam) telling Dorian to get his shit in gear and just TALK to Orym (also Liam)

Fearne & Jester - Ashley and Laura at their most powerful

Yasha & Beau & Fearne & Imogen & Laudna - the gayest thing ive ever seen

Fjord & Cad & Orym - 2 wildmother worshippers who see a small man with a vestige from the wildmother and adopt him immediately

Caleb & Ashton - “my husband said you have a beacon in your head” “yes sir”

Cad & Laudna - two spooky dead people a la the Spider-Man meme

Ashton & Beau - they will either hate each other or love each other

Dorian & Fjord - I truly believe they will match each others freak

Veth & Orym - Sam WILL give Orym (Liam) the shove to talk to Dorian because Sam is a shit-stirrer

Fjord & Imogen - southern to southern connection and then Laura breaks it by being jester and saying “fjord you’re doing the old accent again” and Travis’s nose starts bleeding

Yasha & Braius - black and white monochrome big baddies

Beau & Orym - fighter to fighter connection

Yasha & Orym - tough, angsty widows who found love in a (literal) hopeless place

Braius & Jester & Veth - “wait, why do you look so familiar?”

[gleafer]

UNINTENTIONAL SEXY ANGEL VS CROWLEY. EXE

When working a high-stress, quick turnaround project, I give myself time for warmups so I don’t draw people like sausages.

I post these warmups on my Patreon (which is creeping up to 500 posts!!!) because it’s always these two lovebirds and today I’m sharing with you!

Enjoy!

[bigfatbreak]

Birds of a Feather

previous / next

[sibmakesart]

he knows what hes doing

[marimoog]

he bribed her to not tell anyone (she told robin immediately)

[alienssstufff]

That boy’s OBSESSED‼️‼️

100% sketching in pink alwayz n forevurz

[dat-soldier]

Nosebleed Kiss

[canisalbus]

✦ Revolting ✦

[elfboypussy]

wine drunk and oversharing at da hanged man

[tobisaw]

art dump It’s mostly tommy sorry

[inkskinned]

yesterday while feverish i wrote about how boats can moor next to each other like pigeons, cooing with the gentle rap of water against their hull. you once said that that the way i see things - birds in the water, feathers in marina paint - was "childish and naive." you said i'd been misdiagnosed - "it can't all be adhd. you might be just kind of stupid and lazy."

i still do certain things like how you taught me - turn the pillow case inside out before putting it on. drive defensively. hate myself entirely.

the prompt for this poem is "mahler's fifth." i wish it wasn't, but mahler's fifth was our song. it ended up in my book. every person that knows your name has promised me they'll give you one swift rabbit punch, right to the face. dean read the book and showed up on my front porch, drenched in sweat from running the 8 miles at 4 in the morning. he was shaking. pacifist and gentle - he works with children - i'd never seen him furious. a punch isn't going to do it, he said, and then said i'm sorry. i had to come to see if you were okay.

mahler's fifth was mine first, like my girlhood. i like the way each movement piles onto the next movement, each instrument bleeding into the next. i like the horn version the best. before i met you, i danced to it on grass still-wet from sprinklers.

later you would tell me that the way you heard it was somehow better. you understood something in it that i couldn't quite wrap my fingers into. once, on our anniversary, you asked the classical music radio station to play it for us. we missed hearing it because we were fighting. one of the things people get wrong about abuse is that sometimes victims are, like, brutally aware of the stupidity of our situation. what do you mean that you thought i wasn't good enough for you? you? you're just... nothing.

sometimes people can pull the poetry out of your life. i watched my words become clothesline, and then thin out into kite twine. i watched you chew through every good syllable of me. so many good songs and places and moments were ruined. i am glad you didn't like most of my music - less to tie back to you.

but still mahler's fifth. the music swells, and i am 21 and throwing up in a bathroom on my birthday. a woman i will later refer to as lesbian jesus runs a cool hand down my back, her perfect pantsuit starch-pressed. she told me to leave you. she said - and this is true, and not an invention of rhyme or fantasy - i'm you from the future.

i am 22, and i got home from an award ceremony, and i remember you telling me - you act so proud of yourself when you're actually so fucking embarrassing. i took you to disney world. you took my virginity. i gave up visiting spain for a week with my family - i instead choose you, to spend the time just-cuddling. you called it "our fuck week." the music swells. it probably should have been a red flag that for about 3 years - i just gave up on crying. my grandfather died and you said nothing. my uncle died and you ghosted me for 3 weeks. you said i need to protect myself from your ongoing tragedy.

every so often i come back to the memory of one of our last afternoons in person. i had just told you that i wasn't going to law school, despite the free ride - i was going to join a creative writing program. master's in fine arts. i was going to finally do it - i was going to follow my dreams. this blog was already internet-famous. however reluctantly, i would occasionally refer to myself as a poet. i got into umass amherst's writing program for fiction authors. it is one of the the top 5 programs in the country.

wait are you seriously considering actually attending that? dumbfounded, you turned completely towards me in your seat. for the 3rd time in our relationship, you almost crashed the car. you actually want to be a writer?

the first time i went viral, it was for a poem i wrote about you:

he wants to say i love you but keeps it to goodnight because love will take some falling and she's afraid of heights.

every time i see that, i want to throw up. you weren't in love with me, you were in love with the control you had over me. a little truth though: i am afraid of heights. you caught a rabbitgirl and skinned her alive.

mahler's fifth still makes me sick.

give me that back. give me back music. give me back everything i had before you. give me back fearlessness. give me back bravery. give me back a scarless body.

give me back what you took from me.

[valtsv]

But I have promises to keep—and miles to go before I sleep.

I couldn't stop thinking about VAL listening to Shrue's radio speech when she confronts Carson, and wondering just how many times she listened back to that recording while waiting for him. Did it bring her some comfort, to listen to someone else's last words as she waited to speak her own? Did she feel a little less alone, keeping company with another ghost that hasn't realised it's already dead?