look at my bling


Dear KNK, Astro, Seventeen, and any other group who are having comebacks this month and next month,

Please give us a break. We’re all broke. Please plan your comebacks somewhat farther away from each other. I would really appreciate it. (Not that I’m complaining because fucking Don’t Wanna Cry is a masterpiece, Sun, Moon, Star is fucking amazing, and Baby is fucking adorable. Beautiful is also an amazing song. My Swagger is sick as hell and the seven of them look fine as fuck. Bling Bling and B-Day are my fucking jams. Shangri La is fucking amazing, as expected from Vixx.)

A really broke fucking fan.

Also why the fuck are all of these songs coming out in 2017 so good. I’m beyond amazed with these groups. I can’t wait to see what the rest of the year has in store for us….although I’m pretty depressed about all of these disbandings.

ponthion said: omg omg Ganondorf with 8

Night after night, the desert king is haunted by visions of a sacred triangle in the eastern sky…

anonymous asked:


I CANT BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENED IKON IS BACK MY BABIES ARE BACK!!! Omg Bling Bling’s dance looks so lite I cant and Chanounou’s voice matured a lot im going to cry??????????
And B-Day is so lit Hanbinou looks so beautiful, they all look handsome and im exciteddjjdjdkdksksks

Instagram: @anita_herbert Great Pic! - Check out more of her pics: anita_herbert on The Gym BabeInstagram Caption: Yayy ! ☝🏽️ call outs for this girl today 👧🏻 😍#seaboardpro #georgia Look at this bling 💎💎💎 im in love with my new suit by @cjselitesuits 👙 and my jewelry by @glamcompjewelry 💍💎 thank you so much @cjselitesuits for making this perfect suit in a short notice you guys are the best💙💙💙💙Follow Us For More Gym Babes - Updated hourly!Find Us On: Facebook | Instagram | Twitter | Tumblr


Sufjan Stevens performing All Of Me Wants All Of You @ Red Rocks

Captured by me; @ontheavalanche

found a mutant-emperor!Karkat in one of my school notebooks the other day.  Hey aquilldeferred weren’t you the one who was talking about needing more non-tyrian emperor Karkat b/c I THOUGHT OF YOU AS I DREW THIS ILU bb. :*

So You Wanna Be a Meathead

dedicated to anyone who is just starting out, or who wants to start out

The day comes, and you’re all like, fuck yeah, I’m gonna start working out.  And it takes awhile, it always kinda does at first, you’re just kinda pissin along, you do a ton of cardio and maybe play with some of the machines.  Like testing the waters, you know?  That’s how it starts.  You don’t even know it yet, but there you are, on the elliptical, or the treadmill or whatever, and you come up for air sorta.  You kinda shake your head from side to side and refocus on the digital numbers in front of you.  One is counting down, one is counting up.  You’re halfway to halfway there, and you’re so out of breath, and you keep going, pumping, pushing, and there’s no real reason to stop going, so you just keep going. 

The months pass like that.  Sure, from time to time, you get a little frustrated.  You ask yourself, why do I keep going to the gym?  But there’s no answer.  There isn’t even really a question.  It’s like shouting into the wind.  Your voice gets ripped away from you.  It might be a little tiny hiccup of doubt, but there’s a louder, gusting roar going on inside of you.  Something is building.  You start getting a little, oh, what’s the word, obsessed.  Old habits are shedding like dead skin.  It isn’t huge, not like those fantasy stories you read.  It’s a little bit at a time.  Little flickers of thought that lick their way into your head without your even really stopping to notice them.  It’s like seeing something move out of the corner of your eye as you whiz by on a freeway.  Was it real?  Was it really there?  There’s no way to go back and check to see if it was, because you’re hurtling forward, you’re moving so fast, there’s no way you can slam on the brakes.  You actually end up hitting the gas.  You lunge forward. 

You’re watching a game on TV.  Could be streaming it, could be at a bar, could be on your TV, whatever.  It’s gonna happen - sports is everywhere, you can’t really escape it.  It trends on Facebook.  You click the hashtag, the link, idly scroll through.  You don’t realize that you have been doing this for some time now, that you seem to continually expose yourself to sports.  You see logos of teams more often than you used to - are more people wearing sports swag, or are you just noticing it now? - but it doesn’t matter, it’s just sort of there, out of the corner of your eye.  You wouldn’t say that it’s an obsession, not really.  Not yet.  Well, maybe a little. 

And then there’s the whole world of the Internet spread out in front of you, a buffet of information.  You can choose what goes on your plate.  You look at your bookmarks and you’re genuinely surprised how many of them have the word Bodybuilding or Muscle or Nutrition in the titles.  You don’t remember bookmarking those, saving those links on Facebook.  There’s your watch list, on eBay, and you seem to be constantly getting notifications on your

- bling -

phone, because another tank-top or sleeveless t-shirt or basketball shorts is ending, and you just gotta cop that shit, you can see yourself wearing it, wearing it to the gym again in the not-too-distant future, and you honestly don’t know what to say when you get a package in the mail like, every day or some shit, and your roommate is like, yo, what the heck are all these packages you’re getting lately?  There’s no way to make up a story, and man, lying about it, coming up with something, just seems so hard, your brain is really fried from the last workout, and you just shrug and say “Gym clothes, bro” and oh my god you just flexed your arm in front of him.  It’s like time stands still, like everything is frozen, even you, and then you drop your arm and laugh a little, and he laughs too, and everything swells into a kaleidoscope of colors in front of your eyes, something like a spiral has been laid over everything you see.  “Gotta show off my gains, right?”  And it’s half-a-joke, half not-a-joke, and he shrugs too, and laughs easily, says something about how you’re a real meathead, and it’s half-a-joke, half not-a-joke.  And he’s telling you about this book he’s reading, and how he knows you’re gonna be super into it, because it’s meta-post something and

- bling -

Your phone is going off in your pocket, and you ignore it at first, you’re really trying to pay attention to your roommate, and you find yourself kinda nodding, and saying “yeah” a lot, but not really like, connecting, you know, to what he’s saying.  And your phone just keeps going off, and you’re going crazy with distraction, until finally he can tell you’re not paying attention and goes into his room and you dig out your phone and scramble to see what it is.

It’s a chat dialog.  Someone with a ridiculous name, actually, not even a name, a number.  Like they’re on a team or something, and a part of you is kind of intrigued.

And there’s a game on the TV, and you’re watching it, and you’re lifting a 15-pounder handweight while staring at the screen.  It’s not like you know why, but it kinda makes sense to be doing that.  There’s a mirror nearby too, and you keep looking at yourself, watching the muscle grow and move and shift underneath your skin.  And before you know it, you’re back at the gym.  And then you’re home again, mixing up your first protein shake that you got the protein from that supp center, that one that sells the tanks you see everyone at the gym wearing all the time.  You might get one of those one day, you think to yourself.  You should, it’s like repping, and you wanna rep your supp center, you want people to know where you get your supps.  Right?  Of course. 

When you think about it, it’s really kinda weird, it doesn’t make sense.  The day came, you said you were gonna start lifting, working out, going to the gym.  You told everyone.  You posted about it on Facebook.  You don’t remember that you did that, but you did, and you got all these likes, and people are all like, good for you, and how exciting, and keep it up.  Soon enough, that turns into wow, you look good and have you been working out and you’re flexing for people you know - at first, privately, secretly, just to show your friends your work - but then, more and more, in public.  You stretch your arms over your head when you’re tired, showing off your triceps.  Showing off your biceps.  You find excuses to stretch out where people can see.  You wear shorts even when it’s cold.  You want people to see your legs, your calves, your quads.  The day came, and you did it, you started doing it, you never looked back.  You can’t hit the brakes, you’re going too fast.  And sometimes you think about it, you think, why did I make this choice, why did my life change so radically and

- bling -

You look at your phone, and it could be anything.  Someone commenting on your most recent profile pic on Facebook, your friend #37 just chatting about his leg day at the gym, showing you pics of his quads, the teardrop and the outer sweep starting to really show through, it could be another item of gear ending on eBay that you just have to have.  What were you thinking about?  Something.  It’s hard to recall.  Must not have been that important.  What is important?  Well, it’s getting late in the evening.  Gotta get that protein.  Gotta get to bed.  Gotta rest up for the gym tomorrow.  Leg day, and you wanna be able to show #37 just how hard you worked because you want your own number someday, don’t you?  Sure you do.  It’ll come to you.  One of these days, you’ll just remember that you have a number in mind for yourself. 

And then the day comes - you look at the last selfie you took, the dumb one, the one of you with the blank eyes and the big fuckin muscles and well, yeah, you’re shirtless, you’re almost always shirtless at home now, and you’re pretending like you’re surprised, surprised that you got so big, surprised that all the hard work you did is paying off, surprised that you can’t remember your life before, and just for a second, something out of the corner of your eye flickers, and you almost turn your head to look at it, but then you press down on the gas, you leap forward, you lunge ahead, you pick up the weights, you grunt, you sweat, you grow.  And what, you ask yourself, is more satisfying than that?

The answer comes loudly, in a rush, like a crowd standing on its feet to cheer:  nothing.  Nothing is more satisfying than that.  And you answer yourself, you grunt to yourself, under your breath:

Fuck yeah.