
JBB: An Artblog!
taylor price

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hello vonnie

ellievsbear

pixel skylines
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Discoholic 🪩
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Misplaced Lens Cap
Keni

blake kathryn

shark vs the universe
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

titsay
NASA
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Xuebing Du

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣

Product Placement

seen from Malaysia
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seen from Poland

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seen from Malaysia
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@afectadas-blog
Caden seems to be loving the stranger’s attention, and his joyful expression makes Londie smile. If anything makes the world a little more bearable her little boy, and Kiara on most days. Lo brushes some of his hair out of his face, and looks back up at the other woman when she speaks.
❝ Four months.—- Oh? Did she… baby him a lot or? ❞
She doesn’t want to be rude, but some mothers can be just a little overbearing, and that can limit their kid’s progress if they aren’t careful. Caden was rolling over two weeks shy of four months old, and had seemed pretty shocked at himself.
"pssh. how should i know? all i know is he's adorable."
all throughout the conversation jenny's eyes are glued to the baby, except for the occasional glance up at the mother. she was raised with some manners, you know. fingers reach out to tickle the child under his chin, nails gleaming from the shine of their polish. looking at them one would think they're fake, but she happens to just be a genius with a nail file and a couple MAC color palettes.
"--but not as much as this baby ! oh yes, lindo de mami !"
bringing the sleeve of his coat to his forehead, he tries his best to rid himself of some of the blood, not once letting go of the tight hold he has on his nose. scared that it might be broken. he shakes his head, slowly and carefully. no, he wouldn’t dare get in an ambulance. that would mean heading to a hospital, where they might ask for an i.d. or social security number ; which he has none of. america is new, it’s confusing and he hasn’t gotten the hang of it yet. he’s only here for drug delivery, not to be found out and arrested. so he takes a step back. ❛ no. i just. solo necesito usar un teléfono .. para hablarle a mi jefe. ❜ still not used to english, he’s glad he’s stumbled upon someone who shares in his native tongue. not to mention she seems nice ─── after all she opened her door. that’s more than he can say for the other people he tried. wiping his hand on his pant leg, he sticks it out for her to take. ❛ i am.. isidor.. ❜
at the refusal of medical care jenny stands stunned, removing her hand from her mouth so that she can run it over her face. one might expect some more reaction from a woman in her situation, but it would also do some good to take into account her lack of sleep and the shock factor thrown in to finding a bloodied teenage boy on her doorstep. suddenly she's shaking her head vigorously, allowing him inside.
"no, no ! sentarse. vamos a limpiar ese cara." her voice is groggy and slightest bit shaky as well, and she reveals her black slip for a moment as she adjusts her robe, tying its together. it must be ridiculous that at a moment like this she's most worried about her spanish, but she can't help it. she was raised in the states; while the majority of her coworkers are latina as well they're also just as bilingual as her.
❝ hmm. is that right. ❞
understood. completely. but, considering where she grew up, sixty degree weather just can’t possibly bother her. it was a real night sentiment, though, and she awards it with a grin.
❝ you’d have thought the weather man could get it right at least once. ❞
has she ever watched the news.
"god. tell me about it."
the quip is receiving warmly and paired with a peel of polite laughter, but the brightening of her face is quickly resorted back to a scowl. she isn't sure why she keeps her gaze ducked down, but it might have something to do with getting her busted zipper closed. you'd think that would affect her temperature more.
( ♬ ) He notices her noticing him pretty quickly. It’s flattering, sure — but being as bad at people as Llewyn is, he hasn’t the first clue how to react to the staring. Does he walk over and introduce himself? Does he buy her a drink? Does he pretend they didn’t make eye contact just then?
He eyes his guitar case beside the bar; considers leaving prematurely in lieu of embarrassing himself in front of a stranger. It’s been years since he flirted with someone new. This could be disastrous.
she wouldn't call it flirting. come to think of it she wouldn't hold the interpretation against him, either, seeing as how their current setting is usually the default for such encounters. when their eyes meet briefly her smile grows wide, and wider still when he averts his gaze to an object blocked by the form of another patron. now is her cue.
the sound of clacking heels is lost in the midst of laughter, conversation, and chants of CHUG permeating the bar. it's a strange scene for a woman her age. much like her revealing choices of clothing, or her girlish spirit. she's sure he won't mind it though. how young could he be? early thirties? this isn't even that sort of approach.
"is this seat taken?"
You fucked up my sons life, therefore, you fucked up my life.
"is it too early in the year for a booze cruise to hawaii?" joking. mostly.
jenny's never been good with subtleties, which means that when she decides on a man to stare at across down the bar, she expects them notice. it hasn't happened in a while, what with the wedding band around her finger, but it's just that she swears she's seen him before. plus, he'd been singing at the front of the bar earlier that night.
starter call number two u__u
a few tips for writing poc characters —
so i’m not trying to claim that i am all-knowing about poc characters or whatever, but you really have to be aware of a few things before you make a character who is a person of color. this is extremely important because, well, if you aren’t aware of these things, you probably are perpetuating erasure/subtle racism in the rp comm and no one likes that!
people of color (POC) ocs are vastly underrepresented in the roleplaying community. the poc oc that you have/are thinking of writing is a very crucial point of representation, no matter how small your bubble of the community is, and should be treated with respect.
what does this mean? it means:
you should not whitewash your character unless there is a valid explanation in this characters life as to why they are so assimilated into western culture.
you should not mock the race you are writing if you are not of that race (and even then, be careful because internalized racism is a real thing).
you should be aware that if your character is a poc, especially a darker-skinned poc or east asian, your character has probably dealt with discrimination. to deny that your character has dealt with discrimination (unless, say, your character has never lived in the united states and was of higher class in their home country)(even then, be careful) is racial erasure.
you should always be educated about your character’s culture. if you write a mexican character without being educated on the culture of mexico, that’s like adopting a mexican baby while being white and throwing all notions of culture and race out the window in favor of yourself. it’s not right. if you have time to research the different types of werewolves for your werewolf oc, you have time to read up on cultures you might be portraying.
don’t make their culture an accessory. it is not an accessory. it is something very real in our lives that is too often erased.
be sensitive! if you are writing a poc character and you make a subtly racist notion, don’t get up-in-arms when someone calls you out. always question your portrayal, because it’s not ‘just writing’ — you should be respectful and mindful of the race you are portraying, not ignorant and harmful.
this is not a 'you should write like this' kind of post. this is not bashing ~~purple prose~~ or telling people to stop using thesauruses, i am, by no means, trying to tell you how to write.
i am telling you to be respectful and mindful of the cultures you write. it is vital and important, and if you don’t want to respect the poc original character you are writing or the people their culture they represent — then there is definitely something wrong and you need to work on that.
hands grip onto the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles had long ago turned pink. posture hunched over, nose practically going through the wind-shield. he’s seen enough action movies to know that if he doesn’t keep both eyes on the road at all times, then someone is going to get hurt. or the car is going to turn into a robot, one or the other. ─── so when his concentration is broken by chipped painted nails and his wives chamomile voice, he gives a small hop, his head turning so fast he cracks the bones of his neck. ”no i wasn’t.” he was. turning on the signal, he manages to get through the lanes quick enough to get off the beltway. “i wasn’t.. but i swear denny’s moved a lil bit. it wasn’t this close before. swear.. this fuckin’ city, always changing.” he continues to mumble something about his tax dollars going toward dumb things as he makes it to the final traffic light, before they reach the diner; it’s red warning of ‘stop' gives him the okay to turn his attention away from the roads ahead. so he takes the time to lean to the right until his lips press against his wives shoulder. teeth digging softly into her dressings, and tugging at the cloth until it's pulled out of his mouth. there's a glimmer in his right eye and a smile on his lips. though it’s shortly lived, because now the car behind them is honking. flustered and feeling guilty, Joey soon returns to his driving bubble made up of a stiff concentration. ─── & five minutes later, they’re at the diner, a five star dinning experience by their standard. getting out of the car, he quickly jogs over to the passenger door. knocking on the glass window before opening the door for his darling.
jenny is well adjusted to his ramblings by now. any intervention would do no good, and so she simply pulls her hand back to inspect the cracked nail polish, mouthing along to the words he's mumbling as though she's memorized them all. shoulders continue to sway to the music as the old song fades away and is replaced by something more down tempo, and when they reach the red light she already knows what's coming.
she can't help it when she laughs at his advances, at first tiny tittering and then that a fully blown cackle. hands work quickly at shoving him playfully away, if only he'll stop taking such advantage of an area he knows fully well is ticklish. fortunately the car behind them does the job for her. jenny glances behind them at the driver, sticking out her tongue and a middle finger. we know what it looks like: she's hardly matured. but can she help it that she happens to be in a fantastic mood?
eventually they're pulling into the parking lot, and jenny pouts a little as the car radio shuts off, too busy unbuckling and gathering her purse to notice joey walking to the other side of the car. cue an expression of surprised delight when her door opens for her, followed by her stepping out of the car and closing it herself. she waits until joey turns around to intertwine their fingers and begin walking.
"look at you ! prince charming now, huh?"
tiny boy heart filled with a fiery anger. small stature of a still growing child. a dangerous combination to have when you also have a short fuze. isidor is a mess of all three ──── to add on, he’s also a night owl. preferring to find trouble along the other busybodies who find comfort in the veil of witching hour.
tonight was quick moving. only ten minutes after he began to venture out, did he find trouble in the shape of a group of men doing a trade. he didn’t stand a chance. which is why he’s now knocking on strangers houses, one hand holding onto his bleeding nose. the other making sure to wipe away any stray blood from the wooden frame of the door.
❛ hello .. hmmm , can you help me ? i need a.. curita.. ❜
eyebrows shoot up at the sound of a voice, which she can't help but deem the most contradictory mixture of reluctant and shameless. not to mention young. with great hesitation she lifts herself up from the bed, throwing on the robe she'd dumped haphazardly on the foot of it and tucking her cell phone into the pocket should the worst nightmares of a housewife be realized. it's dark in the house and yet she only turns on the hallway lamp, opting not to sting her sensitive eyes.
the porch light different. it turned on automatically before the boy's cry for help, and so when jenny reaches the door the dripping blood on the face of a teenage boy is made all the more gruesome. if one were speaking through an artistic lens they may even call it biblical. there's an audible gasp and she throws her hand over her mouth, speaking with shock through the gaps in between her slender fingers.
"oh my god-- are you okay? estas bien? do you need an ambulance?"
❝ …. Gracias. Él acaba de comenzar sentarse por sí mismo. Sorry, my Spanish is not that good. I haven’t had to use it much. ❞
Despite the overwhelming love she holds for her son, Londie can’t help but feel a pang of apprehension. Like every comment she gets is some kind of judgement. No one knows her life, they can’t see what she has to do to keep Caden fed… so they can’t judge, but the young mother can’t seem to break out of that mindset.
at the apology jenny makes some wavy noncommittal hand gesture. it's just the perks of being bilingual that keep things from getting as awkward as possible. she's much more focused on the baby, now, anyway-- which means she couldn't care less about the stranger's job. she's known for never assuming the worst in people.
"how old is he? god, this one girlfriend of mine had a baby, and he couldn't sit up till he was two. two !"
Jonathan Walker ? You’re next.
wednesday, 3:30 pm. every week it was the same. he’d get his one scheduled phone call ─── he hated and loved this day. loved it because hearing jenny’s voice was always a treat. hated it, because he always wanted more; he was left wit the desire to kiss her mouth, hold her hand. if none of that, to at least get more than one phone call a week. but he figured the prison didn’t want to spoil them. he understood, in a sick way he did. sticking his quarters into the phone slot, he dials the old home number. his heart beating quickly as the phone began to ring. slowing down again when the annoying operator begins to ask the person on the other line if they would like to accept the call. ❛ baby ? ❜
it's as though her whole life is a game of waiting-- a game of waiting where her husband is concerned, at least. by now she's been able to figure out a pattern in his phone calls; to take her lunch break late so as not to miss a single one. she can't help but think it desperate. it's why she busies herself heating up whatever lean cuisine she's eating today to pretend the whole purpose of her presence at home isn't to have a phone conversation. and like always, as soon as that phone rings, all chances of disguising her anxiousness are thrown out of the window.
jenny ditches the microwave and speed walks to old phone on the wall, picking it up just in time to hear that familiar disclaimer. she doesn't interrupt it this time, instead allowing the recording to run its course so that she can take a few breaths in and out. by this time the lines between nervousness, apprehension, excitement and plain acceptance have been far too blurred for her to differentiated. after one last big inhale she presses the appropriate dial, a slow but sure smile shattering her slemn expression at the sound of joey's voice.
"--hey, honey."
Alex MacLean
Over Ramps, 2008 Albuquerque, New Mexico