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@starfragment1979
Once again trying to get into Tumblr, but I don't know how long I'll stick around. All social media is just so crazymaking. Anyway, I write Animal Crossing Flick/CJ fanfic, here's a link to my AO3:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chocolate Guy's Wario
I wish I took a better pic of this writing in a bar bathroom in toronto bc I think of it so often. Be So Completely Yourself That No One Is Attracted To You Or Wants To Employ You
the next day after exerting myself too much because i felt good for once
@horbse
unfortunately i have free will so im about to make art that is going to appeal to basically 4 people. let us hope those 4 people follow me.
NPC = Non-Player Character
Flick!
oh so when other people call a baby "cute enough to eat" it's sweet and charming. but when i, cronus,
it has always been a dream of mine to relax
it’s just not possible
Chapter five is up.
Love that is Graceful and Green as a Stem (72190 words) by star_fragment Chapters: 5/6 Fandom: どうぶつの森 | Animal Crossing Series Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Justin | C.J./Rex | Flick (Animal Crossing), Justin | C.J. & Rex | Flick (Animal Crossing), Flick & Cherry Characters: Rex | Flick (Animal Crossing), Justin | C.J. (Animal Crossing), Kameyama-san | Nat (Animal Crossing), Hanna | Cherry (Animal Crossing) Additional Tags: various other Animal Crossing characters, Friendship/Love, Pre-Relationship, Growing Up, Secrets, Yearning, Holding Hands, Cuddling & Snuggling, Angst, Shame, Jealousy, Mental Health Issues, Anxiety, Depression, Undiagnosed Autism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Recreational Drug Use, Mildly Disordered Eating, High School, Camping, sexual awakening, Masturbation, References to Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, you guys should know that they are NOT getting together at the end of this fic, even though there's like a thousand points in the story where they should have gotten together, edging my readers for 91k words, Flirting, oblivious flirting, Mutual Pining, Flick is oblivious to his own feelings tho, Flick is an unreliable narrator for his own inner life, Flick is bad at feelings, Flick is a little repressed, Flick is going through it, he doesn't know what he's going through but he sure is going through it, sexuality is a box he cannot open Summary: At sixteen, Flick and C.J. are finding more opportunities to explore the world and to be alone together. But growing up is hard, and Flick can't imagine his future; in the present he's having a difficult time at school and is fighting a lot with his dad, and he’s struggling with his identity and his purpose. Spending time with C.J.—and planning a three day camping trip over the summer, just the two of them—is a welcome distraction from all that, but what Flick doesn’t anticipate is that over time he would start to see C.J. in a new light. A companion piece to my story “Oasis.” Title is a lyric from the Leonard Cohen song “Sisters of Mercy.” The story is complete at 91,000 words and I'll be posting a chapter a week on Fridays.
I'll never forget my first pride.
I can't remember my actual age, but it was in the range of 10 to 13 I think. my parents had dragged me to a Pride festival, and walked across the street from the main event, across where the lines were drawn, to where a sea of people in red shirts that read "god has a better way" tried to drown out the celebration with speakers blasting christian music, and shouting and loud praying.
the leaders pulled all us kids to the side and gave us the spiel. they told us how the rainbow had been stolen from us, and that these people were tricked by the devil and just needed prayer, but that if we didn't save them, they were going to hell.
I rolled my eyes because I already didn't believe in god, and although I barely knew what being gay was, I knew my parents were usually on the Wrong side of things, and I shouldn't be siding with them.
"We aren't allowed over there if we're wearing the red shirts," the leaders told us, "so we're sending people over in secret without them so you can pass out tracts and pray for people. they won't talk to us, but they'll talk to the kids. does anyone want to volunteer?"
the people in red shirts disgusted me. the people on the other side of the line were cheering and having fun. I raised my hand.
we were supposed to go in groups with young adults, to make sure we were doing what we were supposed to be. I wandered off the minute I could and stood nervously at the edge of a crowd, watching on as people went by, happy and unbothered by the protests across the street. I felt a little pride myself in tricking the protestors into giving up a witness spot to me, when I was going to smile on and think profanities at god instead.
there was an older woman standing outside the crowd too. she asked if I was here with anyone, a girlfriend maybe? I said no, my parents were across the street. she nodded, and said she was here with her kid. a daughter, that she came to support, but couldn't keep up with in the crowd.
I almost cried. I told her how amazing that was, because I couldn't imagine my mother showing support like that to me over anything, much less something as serious as Being Gay. I imagined if I was gay, and at a pride event just like now, but this time because I Belong.
I knew automatically that my mother, without a doubt, would still be in the same place, across the street.
I got hungry after a bit, and tried to find a good food truck. I had a little money and I was unused to being on my own like this, but I didn't want to go back to the Other Side. I knew now without a shadow of a doubt, this was the Good side and that was the Bad side.
as I was eating the gyro I got, there was a stream of red shirted protestors trickling through; I had reached the end of the boundaries, and the protestors were allowed in here. I backed up a little, spotting my dad among them. I didn't want him to tell me to go back.
there was a line of women closing ranks around the Pride attendees, separating them from the protesters as they walked through. they spread their arms out and told every person the protesters spoke to that they were not obligated to respond, they could walk away and not engage.
my dad spotted me back, and made a beeline over. he couldn't cross over because a butch lesbian stood between us. I didn't know what those words meant, but I never forgot the buttons she was wearing.
he tried to tell me that it was time to go. "you're not obligated to speak to him," the butch said, cutting him off and edging further between us. I smiled at her, a little in wonderment. no one had ever told me that I didn't have to speak to my parents, or do anything other than blindly obey them. I watched my dad get held behind a line by a woman half his height, with no intention on letting him get to me, and I smiled and walked away.
I didn't have a clue who I was then, and I wouldn't for a good few years to come. but I never forgot the supportive mother, who symbolized to me everything a mother should be, that mine, for all her religious self righteousness, would never hold a candle to. I never forgot that she was the person I wanted to be, and my mother was the person I did not want to be.
I never forgot the butch who stood between me and my dad, and for the first time ever, put the idea in my head that I was ALLOWED to make my own choices in my beliefs, and made me feel protected in a way I hadn't known I needed.
the image of her standing between me and my dad, being a physical barrier to protect me against any potential threat, that inspired the image of who I admired and wanted to become. it inspired the version of me who could stand up to my dad - to the point that I could hold my ground and educate him enough that over a decade later, he walked side by side with me at a pride festival, with no intent of witnessing to or condemning anybody.
pride month may be over, but the impact this month and these events can have is so damn important. I became who I am because of two people I met at a pride festival. I'll never forget.
*sits down to write a smut fic* The plot of this smut fic is that Character A believes himself abandoned by God.
This is a comment someone appended to a photo of two men apparently having sex in a very fancy room, but it’s also kind of an amazing two-line poem? “His Wife has filled his house with chintz” is a really elegant and beautiful counterbalancing of h, f, and s sounds, and “chintz” is a perfect word choice here—sonically pleasing and good at evoking nouveau riche tackiness. And then “to keep it real I fuck him on the floor” collapses that whole mood with short percussive sounds—but it’s still a perfect iambic pentameter line, robust and a lovely obscene contrast with the chintz in the first line. Well done, tumblr user jjbang8
I hate that my aesthetic sense agrees with this but everything you just said was correct
I went back to dig up this post because I was thinking about poetry.
This is one of those non-poem things that are among my favorite poems.
As the OP stated, the use of alliterative consonants is aesthetically just great, especially the placement of the strongest use at the end: “fuck him on the floor.” The use of “chintz” is indeed great word choice.
Because I’m insane, decided to scan the poem:
Not only is the second sentence, indeed, perfect iambic pentameter, the entire poem is perfectly metered, though the first sentence has four iambs rather than five.
There are further things I love about this poem, though: I like the casual connotations of “keep it real” juxtaposed with “chintz.” It causes me to interpret the “chintz” more strongly as meaning something fake, a facade. There is also of course the coarseness of “fuck,” which is a contrast with “chintz” but a different kind of contrast, gutsy and carnal where “chintz” is flimsy and inanimate.
And then there is the storytelling: there is SO MUCH storytelling in just these two lines. To break it down: The speaker is having sex with a married man, in the house he shares with his wife, which is “filled with chintz”—something that here connotes fakeness, in contrast with “keep it real.”
The illicit encounter in the poem takes place within a house filled with facade, the flimsy construction of the wife’s marriage and domestic sphere, but the encounter itself is a taste of something “real.” That’s a story, and it’s just two lines.
This is EIGHTEEN SYLLABLES, y’all. The amount of meaning condensed into these eighteen syllables is stunning, and it is so elegantly done.
From a technical standpoint (and ive taken 300- and 400-level poetry classes so I can say this) this is damn near flawless as a poem.
Kept thinking about this ever since I saw it and had to do something
there's art now
Ah dang to go further; the floor is framed as a refuge. As if there is literally no other space in this house that hasn't been populated by his wife with flimsy inanimate fakery. There is no space for this man in this house save for the floor. There is no space for him on the sofa, oon the counter tops, and most notably, no space for him in the marital bed.
I’d also like to point out the use of the word “has.” The wife has filled the house with chintz. She isn’t filling the house with chintz. She doesn’t fill the house with chintz. She has filled the house with chintz. Use of the past-tense makes the wife a subtly removed element in the story, someone whose presence we see in the environment, but who is blissfully distant during the actors throes of passion. There is an element of physical as well as emotional separation from the wife that is catalyzed by being fucked on the floor. Use of the past tense is an end to the wife presence in the actors life, a carnal catharsis amid cold fragility and emotional distance.
This is my new favourite post in the world
everyone cheer for the one (1) time tumblr had reading comprehension
And, predictably, it's because it was about gay sex
Im enjoying the longevity of tumblrs recontextualization style of humor. a seemingly innocuous post followed by like "posts that a gnome would make" or like "are you a phone"
More from the notes:
I love this post
The horse thinks as it scratches an itch
More of my bullshit. Trying out some shading.
Media is micron pen and tombow markers.
When the brain fog kicks in..
Animal Crossing said Gay Rights 🏳️🌈
