a haunting

anonymous asked:

ok so i think a lot of the jefferson/whitewashing stuff probably comes from the way you draw his hair! in your art it comes of lighter and less ringlety, more curls. i think that might be what anon was talking about! maybe look at some references because to make it more accurate? (no hate btw)

the first pic on your blog tagged “thomas jefferson” (it’s jeffmads) looks more true to real life! -anon on daveed’s hair

oh yeah mean like.. the colors i used ?? :0 bc in the image u were referring to, i made tjeff’s hair more black instead of dark brown bc i was experimenting

lmao i have to admit dark brown isnt very accurate tho thats true, thank u for telling me 👌 👌 the next time i draw tjeffs or laf ill color it black instead, or at least ill make it less brown or more black (lowkey rly hate how i drew his hair here tho eeeugghh)

here’s a doodle i did just now, tell me what u think!! :O

briwhosaysni  asked:

Hello. I was wondering if we could get another chapter in the ghost Juno au. It's one of my favorites. :)

Okay, so quick story time regarding this one:

It’s one of my first fics written for The Penumbra, and probably one of my favorites. So I published it in October, I tried to keep going with it, and I last updated it in February.

Because I could never decide on the right way to end it. 

Last weekend a friend of mine came over, and she spent some time helping me unravel some blocks, which is why this is finally finished.

You can find the whole of the fic here (since this fic predates me posting them directly to tumblr). 

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So i had this idea a long time before and i started to draw it one month ago but didn’t finished. It’s just an AU idea where akira get’s trapped in a haunted house (don’t ask me why) and reverses in to a child (don’t aks me why (2)), then he meets some ghosts ( they’re the rest of the party but i forgot to drawn morgana sorry mona…) that will help him get out of this curse and an adventure begins…Yay? ( the enemys are the demons)

Ah i’ll post the continuation of this AU in another post…

All because I was young
And not in control.
I didn’t know how to feel.
or how to let go.

So now you’re scared
That I will act the same.
But I also am scared.
Of it happening again.

So I keep being closed
And not opening up.
But i guess that 
is pushing us apart.

At least with the summer
we get a huge break
so that when winter comes
We can try again.

this vicious cycle
can’t seem to end.
But each time i see you
i fall back in love.

but my worries still stay
inside my head.
maybe we were meant 
to always stay friends.

But that I will fight
will all my might.
Because just being friends
Will make my heart ache.

So even though we worry
that the past will come back.
I think because we’ve grown up
That the past is in the past.

So there is no reason to worry
no reason to fight.
If you were to cause my heart to break.
I think this time I will be all right.

Veltra Fang

When I am not writing, I am editing. All my life is spent in endless shuffling letters back and forth along the lines. For what purpose? Why should I write if I am in love, and why should I write if I am not? Derrida obsesses over his loved one scribbling on identical post cards, one after another, in an endlessly repetitive cycle of rebirth, re-awakening to the fact that he is apparently in love, and only several themes can sustain themselves in his mind: the mysterious lover (I can’t even guess the gender some twenty pages in), the content of the post card–Socrates (written with a capital S) and plato (written in the small letter, just how it was in the gravure that the post card returns back to circulation), indeed a striking picture: Socrates writing and Plato stretching his index finger as if he indeed could, a pupil, to index something to his teacher–and then again, the reverse of the roles happens, the roles are flipped time and again: “Socrates turns his back to plato, who has made him write whatever he wanted while pretending to receive it from him.” (Derrida, The Post Card, 1987, 12). Alright, so the question would be: who is writing whom? Is this the lover writing me if I am writing them, or vice versa? Is this the process of writing that deludes me and makes me into its puppet, or this is I who diverts myself through and with writing?

Philosophy seems to be preoccupied with psychoanalysis, from Derrida to Butler to Gordon, the latter is the most philosophical sociologist one could possibly encounter–and psychoanalysis is always writing, it is a conversation documented. Writing, description of symptoms and patient’s behavior, is the tool now used everywhere. Healthcare is a kind of writing, a genre, too, a literary genre, most definitely. What do I make out of it? Apart from that every writing, ever since the invention of psychoanalysis, is necessary psychoanalytical, and also directed at the self, analyzes self by pathologizing it, and pathologizes by analyzing? The space previously occupied by myth, is occupied now by psychoanalysis, and in particular, by psychoanalysis of self. Arguably, what Freud was occupied with.

Gordon traces the absences of Jung and Freud’s student, Jung’s patient and lover, Sabina Spielrein, a Russian, first a nervous subject, then a psychoanalyst herself, who “transferred from one field, madness, into another, psychoanalysis, and the story of that fieldwork traces the institutional markings of heterosexual desire within an intellectual enterprise, within the institution of psychoanalysis itself.” (Gordon, Ghostly Matters, 2008, 39). If I can say “traces absences,” because it is obvious that only a trace could be traced, and an absence could be, by contrast, perhaps, only absenced. She wrote a work titled “On the Death Instinct” ten years before Freud published his work “on the death instinct,” Beyond the Pleasure Principle. Both Jung and Freud read her work and commented on it favorably in letters to her and critically in letters to each other; she was absent at the Weimar Congress in September 1911, her absence glaringly depicted by the collective photo of the participants. Gordon dryly remarks, this story illustrates “systematic exclusions produced by the assumptions and practices of a normalized social sciences.” (Ibid, 42). Spielrein had schizophrenia but conceptualized it as a way to work through the world and construct herself, refusing accept it as a prerequisite of her not founding understanding no matter what she does. More than a century later, 2017, there is still the very same systematic exclusion, still a stigma of a mental disorder or illness at work, still networks of writings in which fates and faces are omitted and stories are untold, obscured, obfuscated, and erased. Writing is as much a tool of erasure as it is a tool of revelation. Gordon is occupied with stories of haunting, with ghosts–but not with apparitions or paranormal phenomena–the everyday ghosts, rather, the mundane demons that possess humans, are being summoned by readers, writers, dreamers, and forgetters alike.

Haunted Chapter 17

A/N: This chapter brought to you by Subway, like all good kdramas these days :-P  Also, uh, maybe don’t read this one alone at night?

Chapter Seventeen

“That bitch.  That bitch!”  Seungri slammed his hand on horn of his car, startling you out of your tears for a minute.  An old lady crossing the street gave him a dirty look.  “I can’t believe this,” he said for the hundredth time since you’d left the medium’s apartment.  “I can’t believe she -”  

You sniffled against a fresh wave of tears and he let go of the gear shift and squeezed your shoulder gently instead.

“This can’t be the end.  We’ll figure out a way to get him back,” he promised.

“Don’t be stupid.  The whole point of exorcising a ghost is to get rid of it permanently,” you mumbled, swiping uselessly at your wet cheeks.

“Call Jiyong,” he said suddenly, and you thought he was talking to you until a pleasant generic voice sounded from the stereo, “Calling Jiyong.”  

“Seungri oppa!” Jiyong’s cheerful voice rang out through the speakers a few seconds later.  “What’s up?”

“Can we meet at your place?  We need to talk again,” Seungri said, letting go of your shoulder so he could drive again as the light finally turned green.

“Yeah, we’re all here, come on over.  What happened?  I thought you two were going out for lunch?”

“We’ll tell you when we get there.”

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This is the first chapter of my book. It can be found here.


Amelia Hale’s college is all fun and games until she dies and comes back. Now her life is filled with disgruntled ex boyfriends, her dead best friend haunting her, and demon ghost hunters. Needless to say, Amelia’s life gets complicated very quickly. Especially when the lead demon takes an interest in her that’s more than just professional.

The second chapter is here.

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