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#you're in my head
howifeltabouthim · 1 year
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And though I do not believe in extrasensory perception, I did hear her voice in my head, as if she had broken in like a burglar. I wasn't sure how to feel about another person's voice in my head. I thought only I was in my head. I thought I preferred it that way.
Catherine Lacey, from Biography of X
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"A story doesn't need a theme in order to be good" I'm only saying this once but a theme isn't some secret coded message an author weaves into a piece so that your English teacher can talk about Death or Family. A theme is a summary of an idea in the work. If the story is "Susan went grocery shopping and saw a weird bird" then it might have themes like 'birds don't belong in grocery stores' or 'nature is interesting and worth paying attention to' or 'small things can be worth hearing about.' Those could be the themes of the work. It doesn't matter if the author intended them or not, because reading is collaborative and the text gets its meaning from the reader (this is what "death of the author" means).
Every work has themes in it, and not just the ones your teachers made you read in high school. Stories that are bad or clearly not intended to have deep messages still have themes. It is inherent in being a story. All stories have themes, even if those themes are shallow, because stories are sentences connected together for the purpose of expressing ideas, and ideas are all that themes are.
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jumbleytumbles · 2 years
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GIRL you are GLOWING! GIRL you are RADIOACTIVE! GIRL it's FATAL!
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a couple scribbles i cleaned up. also i think i like drawing him in varying states of distress
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ghostpunkrock · 1 month
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when you ask him directly he says no but later he'll tell you one anyway.... real fucked up
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willowser · 1 month
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HMMMMM bakugou being just. the absolute picture of sin.
he works overnight and comes home early in the morning, around 3 or 4 am or so, and you greet him and give him a kissy and ask how it all went. and even though it's still dark outside and he's been working for twelve hours—he's still coming off patrol, right ? so he's still got some energy left, and he eats something and takes a shower and winds down as you fall back to sleep.
and it's not until much later in the day that he wakes up, early afternoon, and you're kind of tiptoeing around so that he can get his much-needed rest. you slip into the closet of your bedroom for something and you think you're gonna get in and out without a sound, but his hearing is so attuned to just about anything and everything at this point.
so rough and raspy, he grunts out, "what're y'lookin' for?" and you whip around real fast and he's just—
half sitting up in bed, bare back leaning against the headboard. an arm behind his head, so that his bicep is tense and round and stone-solid. stretched like that, his obliques are more prominent, taut and rippling up the side of his ribcage. he must have gotten hot while passed out, as he usually does, because the comforter is all askew; one of his legs is bent, the fine hair a dark gold in the waning day; the other is hanging off the bed, lightly swinging as he watches you, and the blanket has come down enough that you can see the bulge of his thigh muscles beneath his stupid tiny black boxer briefs.
and he's just so. man. in every single way.
(his hair is flat on one side, too, and his eyes are still a little puffy from sleep—but you think that adds to it, all in all)
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inkskinned · 3 months
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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.
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ministarfruit · 4 months
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lucky star because I was feeling nostalgic
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just-an-enby-lemon · 1 year
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Batman: Crime is abnormaly quiet today, one more round and we should go home, chum.
Robin (Jason): A-Okay. I may even have time to read a bit before going to bed.
Batman: I'll think about it.
Robin: We could go to Bat Burguer! Di-Nightwing said they have an amazing chocolate milkshake.
Batman: I don't know, Robin...
Robin: I'm sure they have banana milkshake as well or something fruity.
Batman: Hm
Robin: I knew it!
Batman: Hm??
Robin: You are a fruit bat.
Batman: what?
Robin: I was reading a book about animals and they say that of the 1200 known species of bats only three are vampire bats. You are too normal to be a vampire bat. Also vampire bats are smaller and you are very big and vampire bats move solo and while you like to prented to be moody and lonley you have me, Agent A, Batgirl and Nightwing and that just in Gotham. So you are a fruit bat. And you love fruity things.
Batman: *smilling* I suppose.
Robin: And that means we are going to drink the milkshakes because you can't refuse fruit things!
Batman: Because I'm a fruit bat.
Robin: Yeah!!
----- [somewhere in the future] ----
Robin (Damain): I'm the son of Batman, I'll drink your blood, Hood.
Red Hood: Nah, B's totally a fruit bat and as the "blood son" that just means you like banana milkshake, sorry demon brat.
Batman: *in the background, accidentaly listens* *happy hm*
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mblue-art · 7 months
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so like... teeth... fangs, even.........
(silly) xtra under the cut
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smfh tfw ur trying to joke but friend snitches you tf out
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awallflowerdraws · 6 months
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shen qingqiu be like: BINGHE NO?!
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merricatblckwood · 7 months
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what a wild fucking thing to say babygirl
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crabsnpersimmons · 3 months
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a little wip for a little thing i'm working on!
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wasyago · 7 months
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so, would you?
nothing important under the cut, you don't need to look haha
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ditzybat · 26 days
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Jason prowled deeper into the tower, it was a struggle to get the speedy kid down, but after multiple tranquilizers (that could put a rhino into cardiac arrest) the kid finally managed to knock out.
He went over his monologue speech in his head, scanning his eyes over this, honest-to-god, pig-stye of a room (seriously, wasn't this supposed to be the meticulously organized Robin? Jason could barely see the floor before him). Finally, gazing out one of the large window panes, on the phone, was his target in his robin costume - sans the mask.
Tim mumbled a tired goodbye into the phone, seemingly exasperated by the phone call, he picked up on the words 'Bruce' and sneered from beneath his mask.
"You sleep in that thing or something Timmy? That's pathetic" Jason growls out from his place from the threshold of the room.
For his part, Tim spins around with a flutter of his ridiculous cape and a twitch of his muscles "Hood, I-"
Jason lurches forward, beginning his speech, counting the sequence of events like he used to in drama class.
"I was raised on the streets of Gotham." 1. Taking off his hood. "Trying to survive." 2. Tearing his clothes to reveal his homemade Robin getup, "Until Bruce took me in." 3. Cornering the brat, only a step or two away in arm's reach - good, "I trained -"
One thing Jason did not account for was Tim to make the first move and interupt his origin story speech, stabbing the side of his neck.
"Did you seriously just fucking stab me with a hello kitty knife?"
Tim has the gall to flush, "I told Cassie and Bart to stop tampering with my equipment, it's unprofessional! I bet Kon put them up to this!" he squaked, Jason reaches up and takes the knife from his neck, putting pressure onto the wound, and examining it.
"You could've hit an artery!" Tim gives a frog blink and sleepily grunts.
"Damn, which side is the artery on again? I don't really know my lefts and rights, I'm ambedixtrious."
"Do you mean dyslexic?"
"No I'm bisexual." Tim looks genuinely confused, a pout forming on his features as he squinted at nothing like he was trying to figure out an especially difficult puzzle.
Jason, with the pit madness slowly receding from his vision, starts to become a little more concerned.
"Kid, when was the last time you slept?"
"Monday."
"It's Thursday."
"Okay??..."
Jason sighs and picks up his jacket, slipping his pants over the tights and scaly shorts. "I'm going to stitch myself up, then I'm going to make you eat something - you're so itty bitty, like an 8 year old with a six pack - then you're going to take a nice long nap while I wait for B to come and I'll lecture him on the importance of keeping his Robin's alive and healthy."
Tim yawns and nods his head, sinking into his cape so he's just a bobbing head in the shadows.
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fexalted · 8 months
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good omens + text posts (part 9)
an assortment i made last year with some season 2 mixed in for variety :3c
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