print this and put this in my grave


i finally felt motivated to hang all my haikyuu art up and here’s the result (no surprise most of it’s iwaoi)! i didn’t even realize how much i’d bought, but i feel beyond honored to be able to have pieces from so many unique and talented artists, and i thought i should share.

special thanks to the following people for continuing to be sources of inspiration and joy:

@yaboykeiji - mars… i will always be one of your biggest fans. your style and growth never cease to amaze me, and i really, REALLY wish you the best in anything you decide to do in the future. you’ve served as such an inspiration for me, and i’m just rooting for you in life in general. you’re wonderful and loved.

@kevinkevinson - you have by far one of my favorite blogs of all time. i share a lot of the same interests you do, so i enjoy pretty much everything you draw and talk about and reblog. your style just.. the freckles.. all the characters glow and having them surrounding me on my walls makes my day. also, i wish you the best with your run!!

@cousaten - your postcards are some of my favorite things i’ve ever purchased, and i definitely will be returning to buy more from you in the future. you’re so quick to produce such astounding art, and i love the more traditional route you take sometimes. all the iwaoi and daisuga makes my heart happy, so thank you!!!

@kittlekrattle - the iwaoi zine’s not pictured, but you should know that i ADORE it <3 you did a wonderful job organizing and getting them out in a timely manner, and the amount of effort you put into the project is evident and so so appreciated. your art is beautiful and smooth and makes the whole zine something really special!

@radio-silents - BECCA, you’re so brilliant and your style is that of actual comic books, it’s magnificent. i wish i could afford to buy every print in your store because those dissected bags and their headcanons are the best. i love that you’re into marvel and spideypool (bc.. me too, lol), and i will probably be following you and your art to my grave. you’re such a lovely person!

@eicinic - your art is some of the most distinct and breathtaking i’ve ever seen; in fact, i just ordered more from you a couple minutes ago, ahaha. it’s so atmospheric, and the style is just so recognizable, basically a brand. it’s going to be so neat to see what you’re able to produce next!

i can’t wait to continue following and supporting all of you in any way i can, and i hope you’re doing well!! thank you so much for sharing your abilities and allowing me to own and cherish your work.

anonymous asked:

Can you write some autistic/trans will? :)

always, my pal B) so here’s your local autistic trans man, givin you that Good Shit ™


“All I’m saying is, Gorillaz is amazing.”

Nico laughed, shuffling through the Mythomagic cards in his hands. He came across a general satyr card and sighed, throwing it down. He had like, ten of those already and they didn’t even have good defense. “I don’t deny that. I think so too. The new stuff is great, I just prefer… Mika or Sia or…”

It was Will’s turn to laugh. “Or Lady Gaga.”

Nico tossed a card at Will’s chest the way a skilled performer throws a dagger, but it bounced harmlessly off his binder (which was printed to look like golden sequins, Nico hadn’t failed to notice, as if it were possible to look past it. “So extra,” he’d said, making Will laugh the response “In proper homage to my father.”) and landed on his boxer-clad thigh. “A fact you will be taking to your grave, Sunshine.”

Smiling crookedly, Will put down his tangle to toss the card back, pinching Nico’s tummy through his shirt using only his toes. The way they were sitting, facing each other between the bunks of Cabin 13, legs tangled contentedly like they’d been lovers for years instead of the two or three months that they’d really been together, made this much easier.

“Ow!” Nico squeaked, laughing. “No fair! You have mean toes and body armor.” He jabbed a finger at Will’s chest, stopping just short of hitting it to give it a small, gentle tap. “Shouldn’t you be taking this off soon, anyways? You’ve been wearing it all day.”

Nico himself had already had his binder off for the entire time they’d been in the cabin, had taken it off as soon as they’d changed into sleepwear. Will wasn’t changed entirely yet, had simply stripped down until he was more comfortable.

Will sighed. “Yeah, I guess. Dysphoria has been kicking my pretty-boy behind today… It’s weird how some days, I can go out without binding, maybe even while wearing a dress, and be so secure in my masculinity, and then there’s days like these…”

“Days where you can hardly stand to look at yourself.” Nico understood. Oh, how he understood.

Another sigh. “Yeah, exactly.”

To try and give some kind of comfort, Nico pressed his sock-clad foot gently against Will’s leg. He opened his mouth, struggled a bit before closing it again and looking down at his cards, deep in thought. He cleared his throat, then asked, “Would you like me to shadow-travel and get your Star Trek onesie? It’s big and cozy and it makes you look pretty flat.”

Will smiled, looking down bashfully at the gesture, peering up at Nico through his eyelashes. “You know I don’t like it when you shadow-travel.”

In Nico’s ears, that sounded very much like a yes. “I know you don’t. But I don’t like when my extremely handsome boyfriend is sad, so… I win!” He stood, then stooped down to give Will a wet kiss on the cheek, which made him snort and giggle in the back of his throat. “Be right back, babe.”

Will picked his tangle toy back up, sighing. It was black and halfway curled into a neat coil from where he’d set it down a moment ago and Nico could tell he was happy to have it back in his hands. “Be careful not to wake Austin and Kayla, okay? And don’t over-exert yourself, wait a few minutes in my cabin if you have to.” His head shot up so his eyes could meet Nico’s, intensity there in those vividly blue eyes. “And-”

“And, and, and,” Nico said teasingly, “I know, Will. I’ll be careful. I love you.”

Will sighed the sigh of a very weary man, but it was all for show. “I love you too, Angel.”

And with that, Nico moved into the darkness, disappearing into shadow.

“Dork,” Will mumbled to himself, smiling. He already missed him.


i may have been listening to gorillaz the entire time writing this and yes, i added trans nico. because im gay…. also, i used to think tangle toys looked frustrating, but now that im actually Looking, i super want one?? so im living vicariously through this fic (as well as projecting my dysphoria asklaf)

thank you for sending an ask! and sorry for getting to it so late aaa, but ask/requests are always open!! i love getting requests like these *dances awkwardly to stylo* - mod will

anonymous asked:

when i die, i want someone to print out all your art and tape it all over my grave and whenever you draw something new, someone must put it in a blender, put ice cream and yogurt on it, drive to my tombstone and scream: POUR ONE OUT FOR DA HOMIES while pouring all of it on my grave


After a heckety time putting a zine together and shipping copies out, it was nice being an excited recipient for once :) 

I got my copy of the @naruhinafanzine and it looks amazing!!! It’s small and sturdy, and I love the gorgeous art print done by @popimitaya and the cute charm by @ladie-bug . There are so many amazing illustrations and writings in this book, I was excitedly showing my mom how many talented folks are in this fandom. And of course there’s my piece right there! ^^;)/ Naruto finds Hinata at Neji’s grave and decides to join. 

 Anyway you did an amazing job @artistari-chan !! With the cover, layout and everything! It must have taken a lot of hard work, dedication, and love, and the product definitely shows ❤️

Credence is startled by Mr Graves dropping something into his lap, something heavy and golden. He upsets his book and it falls to the floor with a heavy thunk, losing his place.

“What – what’s this, sir?” Credence asks, picking up what Graves has given him. It’s a hand mirror – Credence has seen them before, behind the glass of glittering shops, costing more than what the entire New Salem Church might collect in an entire fortnight. The handle and frame are cold in his hand, ornate and gilded; a swirling fleur-de-lys pattern decorates the back, more gold inlaid in mother-of-pearl. The mirror’s glass, too, is beautiful – clearer than any mirror, than the surface of any lake. He revises his earlier estimate: this mirror probably cost more than what the Church collected in two months. Credence’s own wan face stares back at himself, pink mouth open in a small O. He snaps his jaw shut immediately.

“Communication mirror,” Mr Graves says, holding up its twin.

“Communication – ?” Credence repeats.

“Well, I thought – after last time when you had that difficulty with the Aguamenti – and since you’re still having difficulty with the origami spell, I didn’t want to get a messenger owl – damn things make too much mess – I thought we could – communicate through these,” Mr Graves says in a great rush. Credence thinks he can detect a faint blush to his mentor’s face before the man clears his throat and says, “What do you think?”

“It’s very – pretty,” Credence says dubiously. “How does it work?”

“Oh – like this,” Mr Graves says, picking up his mirror. He exhales, the mirror fogging with his breath. In the mist, he writes Credence Barebone. The last half of his name is too long for the mirror, and Mr Graves has to write ­-ebone­ sloping vertically along the side of the mirror. Credence picks up his mirror, feeling awkward as he stares at his reflection, waiting for something to happen.

“Huh,” says Mr Graves, sounded puzzled. “That’s odd.”

“What’s it supposed to do, sir?” Credence asks cautiously.

“You’re supposed to write the name of the person you want to speak to on the glass, and it shows you the other person’s face,” Mr Graves explains, sounding a little put out that his demonstration hasn’t worked. “Here – maybe my mirror’s broken.”

Credence passes him his mirror, but Mr Graves doesn’t fare any better. “Hmm,” Mr Graves says, looking at him, and Credence swallows against the heavy weight of his gaze. “Try it with my name, instead.”

So Credence breathes on his mirror and writes Percival Graves in careful block print, and sure enough, the surface of the mirror swirls and Mr Grave’s face appears, staring down into the mirror just as he is now. With another puff of breath and swipe of his sleeve along the glass, the image disappears, leaving Credence’s reflection behind.

“Ah,” says Mr Graves, “Of course it doesn’t work. Credence Barebone isn’t the name you were born with, was it?”

anonymous asked:

The instant reunion sex theme in so many fics is bothering me... like in the anime and manga they got like a maximum of three kisses in while they were living together 24/7 they ain't exactly the fastest movers. And nezumi freaks out whenever anyone actually manages to touch him with him noticing and even with a few years before reunion I doubt he'd instantly be over that... plus there would be the whole redeveloping the trust they had in each other before... (cont.)

Cont.)I don’t get it. For a series that takes things so slowly and allows them to develop why are like … 80% of the fics like “ so we saw each other again and miraculously I trusted him instantly with my penis” Anyway… do ya have some decent fix recs maybe?

i want to print this out and put it on my grave seriously Like For Real you nailed it (clapping emoji) like honestly reunion sex is so unrealistic and then there are the fics where they fuck in westblock thats a whole nother level man

He made my body a crime scene
His fingernails were buried underneath the skin of my back
His dental records could be found across my collar bones
His finger prints are smudged across my hip
A swab check could be done in the valley of my chest
His DNA could be found in the deepest parts of me
His hand print was left around my throat
My body was found besides the graves of lost lovers
Blood drained from my face as I gasped for air one last time
God please
His grasp on my throat was as tight as my grasp on the sheets I was buried in
His words burned like the cigarette put out my left leg
God please
A final plea was silenced by lips crushed against mine
—  Evidence
DAY 2161

Jalsa, Mumbai              Mar 16/ 17,  2014              Sun/Mon  12 : 38 am

Kalpana Kakade   … many happy returns of he day … how auspicious to have this celebration a day before Holi .. be well and happy ..

The Hulka has been burnt among gentle prayer and the other belief of hurling a few abuses at the fire, as it burns. Its a cleansing process for the fields and the farmers, and for those of urbane descent. The evil, that which gave us discomfort in our time, has been put away … for anothet year .. 

Festivals have such devotion and belief, and the faith that they execute is so sublime yet so consistent and complete. Whatever would we do without them .. or what with them ..

We do not celebrate it again … there have been discomforting news for the year, the passing away of relations distant, of long months of struggle against illness .. it would be disrespectful to be immersed in the colours of abandon and joy when some among us mourn ..

Tomorrow is a day of travel again, to be with Shweta on her 40th .. dear me … so many years … and we still treat her like that cute cuddly little bundle, who would stare at me in wonder every time she would come to pick me up from the airport after a long stint of shooting from out of the country or land .. she would wonder who I was, and what I meant to her, for, absence from her for long days would perplex her … she was just a couple of years old … !!

But how much connected she remains with me now .. a picture of dedication not just with the family she has gone to in marriage, but with us here ..

When she comes home to Jalsa, its never as though she went away .. and she does not ever allows us to feel that she left .. daughters have a way of doing that, and doing that well .. 

She remains our chief executive officer, and we turn to her for all the tough decisions that come our way … daughters have a sense of the sixth, one that never fails to ring that cliched bell within us .. for us it always rings well and loud .. we are blessed and proud ..!!

The Sunday well wishers were large and excited and covered with the Ef … Sid and Anthony and Dipal .. and they spent a few moments after the gates had shut and all the little children that had been pushed from their parents in the crowd had been restored.

Its been a day with the ‘BR’ and the intricacies of dubbing .. an exercise that decides what your performance shall and will be eventually ..

Fortunate are those, at times, that work with sync sound … fortunate are those that do not also, for they get opportunity to better themselves within the confines of a sound proofed dubbing theatre .. but matching the sound of the dialogue is not enough … the crux of the moment is the ability to be able to catch the breathe of the performance as you find the words matching the mouth and lips .. breathe well and you dub well .. that has been my theory so far at least … but it is an interesting exercise, to be able to change the mood the emotion or the context at times, by making those slight changes in the studio. 

Actually even after you feel that the correct vocal has been recorded, there is always that doubt whether the sound mixer department shall match the sentiment of the dub as has been spoken .. many a time the sound engineer, because he or she has to deal with millions of other sounds to make the atmosphere natural, the vocals have often suffered ..

In the end my conclusion is this : the director visualises a script, a production head or company finances the project, keeping in mind the financial aspect, which on many an occasion differs with what the director may want - you may want an old world grave yard in the heart of London, but may be asked to put up a few wooden crosses and graves to replicate … the DOP has his or her own version of the visual that needs to be portrayed as per his creative camera and light bearings .. the takes to be printed and approved, do get the approval from the director, but could get compromised by the editor, who can have a completely different idea of what the film and a particular scene would look like, keeping his editing process in mind … the artists sound dub could be all very well in the studio, but when it gets to the sound management they could lower, increase, give bass to or cut the highs suiting their own creative inputs as per his professional ethics .. and finally when the film reaches the final mix, the background score, the effects and any other changes could further change your entire performance ..

And then of course, the distributor and the exhibitor shall have their own reasons of release .. number of prints, timing, cities, countries, date … and then the most important … the audience .. 

After an entire year at times of work and preparation, it takes the audience a couple of minutes, to move away from the screen, dig out their mobile, slip into their coffee or soda, juggle the pop corn, crunching it to delight … and walking out, with a blank look, to a bunch of media microphones in the lobby and giving their verdict for channels to write up a story …

The one that conceived and performed has long been forgotten and lost ..

Lost in oblivion and stampede of disinterest ..

Love you all ..

Amitabh Bachchan 

ps : the pictures for the day are yet to arrive … and I wait as long as Kevin Stacey does in all his manipulations in the 'House of Cards’ ..

anonymous asked:

and it all ends here Fatima.. it's been real. but I can't take much more of your mike brown bullshit. I couldn't care any less than I did before i was forced to read all about him on my dash bc you. So, I must unfollow because I do not wish to read about that piece of trash thief who would've killed an innocent man if the innocent man didn't do it first. therefore this is my goodbye. I wish you luck to be able to one day realize what this was REALLY all about. night night.