#or make playlists or anything.

[dickvinci]

and i know i could and possibly might just start posting about fics and what not that i'm writing her and set up a kofi and take suggestions and what not but. it's a lot of work.

[gravedigg]

The Magician - Dorian Pavus

[jascurka]

trying to find out how to draw this man

[oceanwithouthermoon]

hey kuniharu, buddy, i think youre thinking of your other son ???

[blaintism]

@gleesource 500 followers celebration day 4: tina cohen chang + her pop rock playlist

(in/sp)

[redge]

Things I read on the internet that's a declaration of hate for Kana and my reaction (hoping I feel better after typing them all out)

"Kana makes everything about herself"

Did she want to be an idol? Did she want to be a center girl? (Girlie don't even know what a center girl is hahahaha). In Tokyo Blade, did she want the spotlight? That one time Kana wanted anything for herself is when she told Aqua her new dream. She did not even have a graduation concert. She did not have that movie that director told her about. In 137, she was praised for being a handy actor that can uplift others and improve herself and was described as "lacks opportunity" and many chapters after that, she still did not have an opportunity for herself. Kaburagi said they'd sell her as genius actor but that was not addressed anymore. So where is that she makes everything about herself when nothing was sbout her anyway? Not the idol career. Not as an actress. Not as a human loved back by the one she loves. She did not become anything she ever wanted so really how was this all about her? No I really want to know, how did Kana make everything about herself? Like I am really curious where this is coming from ah why do you hate Kana so much? 🥺

"___ best girl compared to Kana who only cries all the time"

Why can't we just go with the "____ best girl." period. Why do you need to put down a character to praise another character I am genuinely curious. I mean my favourite character has always been Kana but not ever did I hate on Akane or Ruby or anyone because why would I when all these characters have different stories of their own? And why do these girls need to compete with each other anyway?! Who's giving out the crown and sash? What's the point??? Your favourite is the best girl for you. Okay! Other's favourite is best girl for them. Okay, too! That's perfectly normal so why are you fighting each other I do not understand 😭

"despicable for slapping a corpse"

Kana slapping Aqua was something that belonged to them. No one knows that conversation except Aqua and Kana (and us, the readers). Miyako's reaction was very valid because she does not know anything about that conversation. Which is why when Kana told that to the dead Aqua, Miyako's reaction wasn't angry anymore. Miyako was in tears. I honestly would have killed Aqua twice if I were Kana really so a slap is nothing compared to the emotional wreck being in their lives brought her. Kana deserves to be slapped for hurting a corpse yes I agree but Aqua deserves that slap too for thinking that him dying is the great solution to whatever problem they're trying to solve.

"Kana is useless"

And what a heartbreak that is. Kana is perservering, patiently working on all the things she want to happen and absolutely nothing went her way. Kana is a representation of someone that tried and tried patiently but everything she did just made her feel useless. She grabs every opportunity, creates opportunity for herself but she is never enough. If killing one's self was a contest, I'd definitely compete Arima Kana as candidate. I would even forgive her if she just goes feral all of a sudden with all of the things that happened to her. She's useless, you say, but was that her fault?

"Kana does not deserve to be happy"

and why not? I say everyone in Oshi no Ko deserves to be happy. So why deny that to Kana?

But really. Why is she getting so much hate?

[heynhay]

was listening to the keith and lance playlists by @dykeactivities and thought a set of connected covers would be cute!! this is for anyone to use for ur mixtapes needs <3

[achillescome-down]

It's Happening Again by Agnes Obel // True Detective Season 1x05

[a-stars-art-blog]

Doodles of ideas that’ve been stuck in my head for a while now ☺️

Flat colors below bc I’m just super happy with how these turned out!!!!

I LOVE RENDERING

[annabelle--cane]

spotify will play me a song that I've never heard before that actively knocks my socks off and compels me to immediately add it to four separate playlists and take a quick research dive to learn everything about this artist that's available online and then spotify will manage to never play it for me again

[jamiethebeeart]

I don't know where all these Spinaraki shippers came from in the last few months but hello hi welcome thanks for being here I love that y'all are here

[sadquickchristmassnowman]

my little sister is the only one who truly understands me

[flowerslut]

EDWARD CULLEN

"you're what keeps me believing the world's not long dead"

(a Spotify playlist)

[miscelliteeous]

SO it turns out I have even more thoughts on him than I realized, like I wrote 14k words about him and I still have so much more to say so here’s some headcanons that didn’t really fit anywhere. NOT WORKSAFE, but this covers a wide range of topics, with the nsfw stuff being only like 1/4th of them.

Adam Frankenstein Headcanons

- General:

He’s a stew guy, like that’d be his go-to meal if he could have it. He likes that no matter what it always tastes a little different than the last time and how easily it can be modified with different ingredients plus it warms him and makes him feel cared for.

Gets cold easily and gets colder than most people can handle, though he still prefers to be wrapped up in something warm.

His voice is deep and can vary between gravelly and raspy, though it gets a tiny bit higher when he’s upset or extremely passionate about something.

Tends to mutter under his breath and talk to himself a little when he’s working on figuring out something complicated.

He can be a bit impulsive and it often bites him in the ass, but he’s working on it.

Has absolutely NO care for looking how men are expected to look at that time in society.

His hair gets very poofy and wavy when it’s taken out of a wet braid.

He has thin skin, and though he heals relatively quickly, he also scars very easily and bleeds easily too.

Will read anything and everything he can get his hands on. He wants to learn about the world as much as possible.

His favorite fiction genre is romance, and he likes big, toxic all-consuming romances and thinks they’re the height of romance. He’s a Heathcliff stan (hey, he’s gotta have SOME bad qualities, am I right?).

Not the best at singing, can’t really stay on tune, but he enjoys singing when happy and alone. Gets very embarrassed if caught.

Animals either adore him or despise him, there is no in-between.

Has a habit of slouching over when standing, to seem just a little shorter.

Feels emotions very intensely. He’s never just sad, he’s devastated, he’s never just angry, he’s furious, he’s never just happy, he’s overjoyed. It’s something he’s working on.

- Romantic:

He has a habit of staring at the one he loves for a long time, blinking very minimally.

Adam doesn’t like to be far away from you, and will follow you around like a lost puppy.

Very much would prefer to have some part of him touching you at all times, usually handholding.

Takes him a while to get used to you touching him as opposed to him touching you, but once he does, he melts.

Braid his hair! It’s practical, its cute, it says fuck you to fashion trends of the time, and it’d make him smile. Braid! His! Hair!

Loves the idea of helping out with mundane tasks, like he’ll cook and sew and be so very gentle when brushing your hair.

Uses so many little terms of endearments, the more reverence they show to you the better. He wants you to know he puts you on a pedestal and practically worships you.

One thing that will piss him off quickly (unless you’ve maybe asked him to please hold back ahead of time) is someone insulting you. He’d be ready to go off on them in a scary way within seconds.

Ideal sleeping position: curled up around you like a pill-bug. He’s big enough that he can probably wrap his body entirely around you and would want to do that every night if he could. Horrible for both of your backs.

If you braid his hair (which you should!) he would want to braid yours in return if possible.

Tends to stand behind you when in public. Partially out of shyness, partially to serve as a warning to others to not fuck with you.

When he’s standing behind you in public? The slouch is GONE, he is eight feet of glaring intensity, like a pissed off lighthouse behind a tiny cottage.

Really doesn’t like anyone else touching you and would get a bit more clingy even if it was a purely platonic touch.

Honestly he’s very possessive. He’s found one person in the world who loves HIM, flaws and all, and he doesn’t want to risk losing you.

Tells you he loves you at least 4-5 times a day, including any time you leave a room he’s in.

- Sexual:

You know that image of the hamster eating a banana? You’re the hamster.

Massive, ridiculously large dick that’s still in proportion so it doesn’t look too crazy huge, but it’s still probably about 9-10 inches hard, 7-8 flaccid.

Absolutely aware of how big he is, and takes every step he can think of to make things easier, though it might still be tricky at first.

Adam prefers positions where he can see your face.

Very vocal, tries to hold back sometimes but fails, very loud.

Says anything that comes to his mind, most of which is just really over-the-top praise for you and how you make him feel.

He’s close to 400lbs of muscle, but very mindful of his body so that he doesn’t hurt you. Even if he lays on you he’d still be supporting himself mostly.

Not really fond of mirrors being involved. He’d love to see different angles of you, but himself? Not so much.

Thinks he’s going to die and ascend to heaven when he first gets a blowjob. Though he loves it, he prefers to give rather than receive, he wouldn’t want to hurt your jaw.

Not much aftercare the first time because he doesn’t know as much about it, but once he learns he’s a king.

Cleans you up, gives you a massage, water, holds you, praises you (even more!), makes sure you’re okay and that you enjoyed it too. He would melt if you do the same for him too.

- Familial/Paternal:

Ideally, he would have two children, he would love to be father to a boy and girl, but he would be happy with any amount or none at all and taking care of pets instead. He just wants to raise and care for something the way Victor never raised and cared for him.

So indecisive with names, like there’s so many good names he would want to use, he’d probably leave it mostly up to you.

The one name he’d really want to use? The second he hears the name Abigail means something like “my father is joyful” he jumps for it because that’s exactly how he feels about being a father.

So scared to hold the baby for a good while. He’s just so big and they’re so small and if he accidentally hurt them he’d never forgive himself.

Hovers around the baby though and still holds its little hand. As close as he can get without holding them.

Once he gets over that, he’s a very attentive father.

Very high chance any of his kids would have his black hair and some of his facial features. He’d hope they would have your eyes though.

Lets his kids climb all over him, pull his hair, swing on his arms, anything just as long as they don’t get hurt.

Very encouraging of them to explore and learn new things but also a bit of helicopter dad.

Torn between wanting to keep his kid/s safe from the world and wanting them to be able to do anything they set their mind to.

While not quite 8ft, I think any kids he would have would still grow to be a bit taller than average.

[micamicster]

Super Rich Kids

Close my eyes and feel the crash...

I wrote this one on post-its on a trans-continental flight after my phone (where i was re-reading the raven cycle) died. 0/10 plane experience would not recommend but I did manage to entertain myself! And now hopefully you as well!

When Ronan pulled into Monmouth Manufacturing he knew Gansey wouldn’t be there. Adam Parrish was, though, sitting on the steps in the golden afternoon light, bike dumped to the side in dying grass. He didn’t so much as flicker an eyelid when Ronan bootlegged the BMW into an approximation of parking on the far side of the lot, which was fine because that’s how he would have parked the car anyway, whether or not Adam was here.

Ronan was pretty sure that Gansey had arranged a shift system with the other boys, to prevent Ronan from being unaccompanied on the rare occasions of his own absence. The idea of a babysitter should have rankled Ronan, but Adam did not seem particularly invested in his role. Small favors.

As he got out of the car he gave Adam his customary once-over, as brief as it was habitual. You could notice a lot in a single glance, if you were Ronan, glancing at Adam.

Adam was wearing long sleeves (his father? Or just because it was October?) and his faded camo pants, the ones Ronan said made him look like a jingoistic meathead. They had recently acquired a tear in one knee. Not in the stylish, deliberate manner in which Ronan’s own jeans were shredded, but awkwardly, in an L-shape, where they had caught on some jagged edge and given way before even careful Adam had noticed and unhooked himself. The tear gaped open at times, like it was doing now, revealing Adam’s knobby left knee and, worse, a triangle of his brown thigh.

Ronan looked away.

Ronan never allowed himself, even in dreams, to trespass beyond the carefully demarcated boundaries of Adam’s clothes. And Adam was usually helpful in the maintenance of this boundary. Unlike Gansey, who could be found working on his model Henrietta in boxers at all hours of the night, or wandering to and from the shower in a towel, absent-mindedly forgetting his clothes in bathroom or bedroom. Unlike the boys Ronan played tennis with, who stripped down casually in the locker room after practice. Unlike even Ronan himself, who’d never met a shirt he couldn’t rip the sleeves off; Adam was always fully covered.

This summer, foolishly, Ronan had imagined that this might change. Now that the hideous secrets Adam protected with his long sleeves were no longer his alone. But by now he knew what kept those sleeves in place, something that Adam had already understood: that knowing and seeing are two very different things.

For example: this. Ronan knew that Adam, like most people who walked around on earth under their own power, possessed thighs. Two of them, attached in the normal way to other body parts, such as knees and hips. To know this was one thing.

Now that he’d seen it, he couldn’t stop seeing it. The way his knee bent, and the muscle above shifted as Adam made room on the steps for him. Ronan was looking away, out at the familiar, grounding, skid marks on the concrete of Monmouth’s lot, but he could picture in their place with deadly accuracy the hinge of Adam’s knee, the tanned skin of his thigh, scattered with golden-brown hair. He could dream about pressing his face against it.

He picked up a rock and hurled it. It glanced off the side of the soulless suburban and fell anticlimactically into the grass dying by the rear tire. It didn’t help.

Adam shifted next to him, subtly.

“What?” said Ronan. “Impressed?”

“Surprised, more like. I thought you were supposed to be the tennis star.”

“You think you can do better?” Ronan pried another hunk of gravel or concrete out of the dirt and tossed it in his left hand, tauntingly.

“I know I can.”

“But?”

“But,” said Adam, with some hint of exasperation coloring his voice, “I’m not going to sit here chunking rocks at Gansey’s car to prove it. My ego’s not that fragile.” His accent slipped out on chunkin’, not as if Ronan had pissed him off enough to forget to hide it, but as if it was a word he’d never used any other way.

Ronan threw his rock again. This was, if anything, a worse throw than before, and it skittered harmlessly across the suburban’s roof.

Adam made a small but contemptuous noise.

“Don’t give me that shit, man. You know he hates this fucking car.”

“That was for your shitty aim.”

“Come on then.” Ronan hefted another piece of gravel. “Ten points if you knock out his taillight.”

“It costs a hundred and five dollars to replace a taillight on that make and model. Plus tax.”

Ronan’s brief cheer was collapsing again. “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to bust Dick’s lights.”

Adam blinked slowly, his dusty eyelashes obscuring the contempt in his eyes for a brief moment. “I’ll leave.” (He wouldn’t).

Ronan dropped the rock. Next to him Adam sighed. Abruptly, he put out his hand. “Telephone pole. Six feet from the top.”

Ronan swept back up the rock and dropped it into his hand. Their fingers did not touch. His heart thudded.

Adam tossed the rock once, testing its weight while his gaze, cool and assessing, remained on the telephone pole. It was a splintered, tilting thing, shamed by his attentions. In one smooth, economical movement, he rose to his feet and let the rock fly. His leg went forward, knee jutting out of his clothes, his back curved, and his arm swept around in an arc, fingers scraping at the blue October sky. Ronan didn’t need to turn his head to know if the rock hit—he could see it in the brief hard satisfaction on Adam’s face.

Adam turned back to him, one eyebrow cocked.

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to earn that hundred,”

Adam shrugged. The gesture was disinterested, but there was a quirk to his mouth that contradicted it. “I know nothing blew up, but…”

Ronan already had another rock in his hand. “West corner lightbulb. It breaks or it doesn’t count.” Adam rolled his eyes, but turned agreeably to watch Ronan miss.

“Would you like to get your tennis racket?”

“Eat me,” said Ronan. (Maybe).

They traded shots back and forth for a while, calling increasingly specific and complex plays.

“Bullshit. Bullshit.”

“Get the government to pay for some glasses, Parrish, and then come back and try to tell me that wasn’t a fucking bullseye—”

“It wasn’t even close! You—”

“You calling me a liar?” Ronan loomed, and Adam, as usual, was unimpressed.

“Just because you don’t lie doesn’t make you right all the time! Like when you said that quote on Tuesday was Seneca. It doesn’t stop being Martial just because you’ve got a child’s sense of morality—”

“See, right there.” Ronan pointed triumphantly at an invisible scuff mark on the doorsill, marking where his handful of gravel had made impact.

Adam gave it a skeptical glance. His face was faintly flushed from exertion in the cold air, but his eyes were as cool and considering as ever. “What we need,” he said, “is a knife.”

Ronan was not allowed knives.

~

“Are you trying to stab each other in the feet? Why are your shoes off! It’s October!”

“Equal playing field.” Ronan wiggled his toes against the cold asphalt. “Parrish’s shitty knife is no match for my boots.” Over Gansey’s head, Ronan tried to catch Adam’s eye, to share a ‘can you believe him’ sort of look. Adam’s embarrassment over being caught acting irresponsibly meant Ronan could expect the look to be rebuffed, but he couldn’t help himself from trying it anyway.

Adam was bent over, eyes hidden. He carefully dusted off his socked feet one at a time before sliding them back into his shoes, as though the socks or sneakers could look any worse. A little parking lot crud might improve their appearance, actually.

Next to him, Gansey was still fussing. Without the pressure release valve of eye contact with someone who knew Gansey was overreacting, Ronan snapped, “Come off it, man, I’m not going to slit my throat while Parrish watches. He can’t afford that caliber of snuff film.”

Gansey’s concern transformed into revulsion, but underneath it he looked hurt, which was far far worse.

Adam straightened up. “We were just using it to mark where we hit. Honestly, we could have done it tossing a sharpie, but neither of us had one.” He sounded conciliatory, which pissed Ronan off. But Gansey was letting it go, returning the knife to Adam with an apologetic smile. Sorry for the fuss. Sorry for Ronan. Ronan’s bare feet were cold against the asphalt.

“Well? Are you going to throw or not, Parrish?” he said belligerently.

Adam rolled his eyes, but obligingly stooped for gravel and let one fly at Ronan’s open bedroom window, a shot he made easily.

Gansey whistled. “You’ve got quite the arm on you. How come you’re not on the Algionby baseball team?”

Adam shifted his feet, awkwardly.

“Please,” scoffed Ronan, “he’s not a team player.”

Gansey did not let it go. “Bet you’d have a better fastball than both our pitchers.”

There was a pause, during which Adam’s face clearly showed all of the thoughts he was trying to corral into a polite response to Gansey’s unconsidered enthusiasm. Ronan got there first. “Yeah, Parrish, why not hitch your wagon to the star of organized sports, like every other rags to riches wannabe?”

“Ronan!” said Gansey, Ronan’s offensiveness registering where his own had not.

“Hitch my wagon to a star?” Adam was unruffled. “I thought quoting Transcendentalists could get you excommunicated.”

“Who said I know it’s Emerson. It’s a sourceless idiom to those of us who aren’t sad little nerds.”

Adam smirked. The smirk said, I never said Emerson. His words said, “Gansey’s damning me with faint praise. No one’s going pro out of an Algionby sport team. Even tennis.”

“Ouch,” said Ronan, cheerfully. “Hit me where it really hurts. My school pride.”

~

Now that Gansey had arrived, his plans for the day took precedence over noble pastimes such as flipping pocketknives at each other’s feet. His plans involved comparing readings from various instruments and then placing said various instruments in various new locations, all of which were equally arbitrary (to Ronan’s eyes) and inaccessible. Gansey’s plans involved him waiting by the car to monitor the readings while people hiked with antennae to the outermost reaches of the signal. People, in this instance, being Ronan and Adam, Noah having mysteriously and silently fucked off, as he so often did when a job required carrying anything.

Ronan put his head down and trudged. It was brambly here, and slightly damp, and he was beginning to work up the kind of counter-intuitive sweat that appears from working in the cold, the kind that makes you colder later.

As the person leading the hike, custom would dictate that he should catch and hold the long clinging arms of the brambles for the following hiker. This presented a dilemma. Ronan compromised, and set about stomping the multiflora into the ground as he walked. Scarlet hips burst under his feet, invasive and beautiful, spreading their millions of seeds across the damp earth. Noxious weeds.

“It’s too unreliable,” said Adam, into the silence. “Sports. It all depends on… your physical condition.”

“And your condition is shit.”

There was Adam’s ironic smile. “Yes. So.” He shrugged. There was the part they weren’t saying, which was that his physical condition could always get worse. Unexpectedly.

“My dad hates baseball.” Ronan heard himself make the slip—hates and not hated—and a spark of fury burned through him, brief and inconsequential.

“My dad loves it.”

They marched on in silence.

Adam swore as a bramble Ronan had beaten down sprang up again, catching him right across the tear, where his skin was exposed. He bent to unhook it from the camo with deft, deliberate hands. “What?” he said, like he could feel Ronan’s eyes.

Ronan looked away. “Why not the military?” He kicked purposelessly at the bramble and heard Adam sigh. “And don’t tell me you never thought about it. Test scores like yours out in hicksville high school, you must have had recruiters hopping all over you like fleas.”

“Would you believe I had a moral objection?” Adam’s smile was self-deprecating. Ronan studied it.

“No.”

Adam shrugged. It, too, was self-deprecating.

“I think you had a superiority objection. You think you’re too smart for that shit.”

Adam blinked at him. “Do you think I’m wrong?”

Ronan snorted. “Hell no. You can do better than getting blown up in a desert for the United States government.”

The smile, when it came, was small and stunning. “Damned by faint praise again.”

[soni-dragon]

flowers, i remember fields… someone by my side…

finally saw hadestown today, absolutely incredible experience and now i will be drawing them for the next few days most likely. quick painting before i must sleep, but the west end cast was amazing just ahhhhhh