feeling-stupid

The Signs and their Patron Animes
  • Aries:Revolutionary Girl Utena (April 2, 1997)
  • Taurus:Dragon Ball Z (April 26, 1989)
  • Gemini:Kochikame (June 16, 1996)
  • Cancer:Spirited Away (July 20, 2001)
  • Leo:Baccano! (July 26, 2007)
  • Virgo:Millenium Actress (September 14, 2002)
  • Libra:Neon Genesis Evangelion (October 4, 1995)
  • Scorpio:Howl’s Moving Castle (November 20, 2004)
  • Sagittarius:Paprika (November 25, 2006)
  • Capricorn:Sailor Moon (December 28, 1991)
  • Aquarius:Axis Powers Hetalia (January 24, 2009)
  • Pisces:Naruto Shippuden (February 15, 2007)

gunrunner; listen // download

a captain ronald speirs mix; for the devil dog of easy company, battered cigarettes and whispered rumors.

01. arsonist’s lullaby hozier 02. devil’s right hand johnny cash 03. ghost town radical face 04. young man dead the black angels 05. graceless the national 06. did you hear the rain? george ezra 07. broken bones chvrches 08. iron woodkid 09. pumped up kicks foster the people 10. the devil takes care of his own band of skulls 11. wires the neighbourhood 12. this isn’t control msmr

Still Wick

College AU, sort of an apologia for Michiru Kaioh. 



She rubbed a little bit of gold foil onto the canvas, rightwhere the beam of sunlight fell onto the edge of the flower. Thick, strong black lines offset the oranges and corals, giving shape and suggestion to the flowers and their bright gobs of sunlight. The largest exploded from the side of the canvas, that bright mustard Haruka had picked up and dabbed on the end of her nose.

The sunlight fell on her face, and the joy of the light overwhelmed her as she detailed the painting. She forgot the words of her professor, who had thought this painting so simple. Something an enthusiastic soccer mom might hang in her living room, he’d said. She gulped down the coffee that sat next to her.

Flowers were a miracle, she thought. The ground was hard and unyielding but still they came up out of their seeds with no thought but to bring brightness to the world. Had her bulb ever bloomed, she thought, detailing the tulip? Maybe it had just been in hibernation all this time.

Haruka had said she loved her. She had expected nothing in return, not even the reply. It had frightened her. She had heard those words so little. And never that way…she could not describe it, not with every word she had available to her. It was the same way the sun hit her face now, almost as if by accident, without hope or agenda.

She dabbed a bit of red onto the end of her brush.

She had begged Haruka to stop. Not to love her. Not to give something she could never return. It had been too much, she could feel the bright green bud splitting her heart open, refusing to stay in its place. It sliced through carefully kept fences and pathways, it was forcing its way to the light.

Where everyone would see.

But as she lay in Haruka’s arms this morning, she had found it more difficult to care. It was as if mere proximity to her made her want to break wide the dirt and burst open. The way she kissed Michiru’s hand, the way she looked at her like she was truly good, it filled her with warmth and with strength. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have enough money in her trust fund alone to take care of both of them. Haruka could move in here, and she would get a room in an apartment for Mina, and all would be well. She could live quite happily.

A pall came over her face as she thought of her parents. What they would say to her. What they would say to Haruka. She could hardly believe in herself that she had anything in common with someone who mopped a floor and read ESPN magazine. But then love was not meant to make sense, was it. Love.

Yes, love, she thought, as she brushed the red detail upward into a slow blush on the gold tulip.

She sat back and assessed her work. Haruka would look on it so proudly. It was cheerful. Bright. Full of promise. She signed the bottom corner. Michi.

There was a knock at her door, and she slipped off her smock and hung it at the hook by the studio door, calling out to the sound.

“Who is it?” She washed her hands quickly.

“It’s Mother and Father, Michiru. We heard you might be entering some pieces into the Marice Gallery show next month.” The disembodied voice followed her as she checked her hair and makeup.

She opened the door where her parents stood, cool, restrained smiles on their faces.

“Michiru.” Her mother spoke first. “You look tired, dear, are you not getting enough rest?”

Michiru walked toward the kitchen. “Between my studies with the violin and my side interests in art, I suppose something had to give.”

Her father nodded sternly. “The director tells me you’re doing well. You should audition for concertmaster as soon as you complete your master’s.”

Michiru set two cups of coffee in her machine. “Yes, I suppose that is the dream, isn’t it?” They stood in silence as the machine slowly ground the beans and dripped the coffee into the two equal mugs.

Her mother took the first cup presented. “In any case, Tobi Marice told us you might be entering some pieces into her show. I told your father that we really should see what our little investment is doing.”

Michiru nodded and led them to the studio. “I have several pieces I was thinking of entering.” She stopped in front of a picture done in blue and greys, a slight trickle of red in the center of the shadows. “This is The Harvest. It’s the first one Tobi saw, and I assume why she tapped me for inclusion in the gallery.”

Her father appraised it coldly. “Ms. Marice has the eye for art, not me.” He chuckled. “But it seems like the sort of thing your mother would buy.”

“I was lunching with Rayna and the girls the other day, and we were just speaking about how your oeuvre has finally moved to something more mature. Remember all those paintings you used to do of, oh, what were they even, space whales? Back when you were in preparatory school?” He mother smiled and shook her head.

She did remember. The bright points of light, the freedom of space, the sinuous lines of each whale. A giggling 15 year old imagining what it might be like to swim through space as she did in their rooftop pool, joined only by the stars.

“We never would have been able to sell those.” Her father laughed.

Michiru wordlessly continued, moving on to another, banded with blue lines, sharp jagged peaks of black and grey and charcoal digging into the fading blue. “This is Pinnacle of Hope.”

Her mother nodded. “Yes. Very good.”

Her mother’s eyes looked around the room and spotted the painting by the window. She raised an eyebrow. “Michiru, whatever is that? Did you paint that?”

Michiru stumbled for a moment over her own tongue. “Just a dalliance.”

She laughed. “I should hope so. My god, Michiru, it looks like something someone would hang in the bathroom of a Motel 6. Tulips? Oh, honestly.”

Michiru crossed her arms and looked down at the floor.

Her father appraised the work. “Is this what they teach you at an Ivy League?”

“No Father, don’t worry, my professor told me it was simplistic and shallow as well.”

“Well good.” Her mother added. “You are better than this, Michiru, this is doodling on napkins for you. You are so talented Michiru, you have a responsibility to reach the apex of your skills, not simply what feels good. The reason we’ve done so much for you children is so you can bring your talents to the world, what’s next, marrying a garbageman and making apple crisp?”

“Of course, Mother.” Michiru tipped her face to the ceiling, studying it very hard.

**

The night had fallen over the city. Michiru swallowed the white pills, chasing them with her glass of white wine. She walked into the studio, flicking on a dim lamp, following the small trail of light to her painting, the only light reflected off of it the gold foil sunlight illuminating the petal.

She took the thick brush in one hand, and covered the canvas with thick black paint.

hammerandrage asked:

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧ | Sexual Attraction ………………………
✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧ | Romantic Attraction
✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧ | Crushing
✦✦✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧ | Squishing
✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦ | Sensual Attraction
✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦ | Aesthetic Attraction

Low ✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦ High

can we kinda kill this whole bad bitch/don’t care about boys mentality? like we assign so much meaning (which often comes across as pseudo-political) to girls who mourn boys and miss boys who were mean to them. let’s cool it w this whole ‘dont have feelings don’t cry over fuckboys!!’ thing and have some compassion for 1another. Okay that’s all.

I feel like I just keep screwing up friendships this week/last week??? And my social anxiety has been really bad so it’s probably all in my head but it feels like I’m annoying everyone or pissing them off or making them feel uncomfortable and that I’m sort of just ruining everything with everyone and it’s both upsetting and exhausting

i know i shouldnt but literally every time i ask someone to do a thing and they say theyve already started the thing i feel like such a fucking idiot i dont know why this happens but it does every time and i become greatly upset by it and feel bad about even asking in the first place again i have no idea why but it always happens