#i’m famous now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ratgill · 5 months

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every ghibli movie is better with some guys in it

#rat posts #studio ghibli #ok i’ll tag them all for clout #princess mononoke #spirited away #the boy and the heron #1k #i’m famous now

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tasteracha · 5 months

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WRITE THST SHIT AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN

its always the ones who wanna fuck their dog or their step siblings who talk the moat shit

NOT THE DOG IM GONNA SCREAM-

#it’s ok i think it’s funny hehe #i’m famous now #my first hate <3

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moonysfavoritetoast · 6 months

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me and @merealsssss tried to jump the fence at her old elementary school bc all the kids came out and we were in the playground and a teacher started yelling bc we can’t jump the fence and @merealsssss was faster so i shamefully walked around and all the kids were like “WOAH YALL JUMPED THE FENCE” and we’re famous and then her brother just got in the car and said “I HATE YOU BOTH”

#teehee #i’m famous now

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legendofmarshie · 6 months

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slit your throat faggot

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

GUYS LOOK AT THIS

baby's first hate mail!!! :DDDDDDD

#this is so cool #I’m famous now #text

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masenkoha · 1 year

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My name is going to be mentioned in my local paper! Someone saw my staff rec from work and liked the book so much that they decided to write a feature on it!

#I’m famous now #ri.txt

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aldoesthings · 2 years

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i am a kitzual hate blog now >:[

oh hell yeah brother

#/j #al speaks #asks #i’m famous now

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ratcula · 10 months

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I’ve Been Here Over A Decade And All I Got Was This Lousy Badge

#I’m FAMOUS now #I’ve been here since 20….. 20….. I don’t even know since I was like 14 #13 I meant to type but whatever same thing #tumblr #:3 #jd

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nix-cecille · 1 year

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hell yeah this post doing numbers

#I’m famous now #a true celebrity #but only to people who like my tma art

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teacupsandcyanide · 1 year

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Something I miss from earlier eras of the creative side of the internet was things just being unabashedly low-budget. Just all unashamedly amateur, unprofessional, ‘I don’t own a good camera but I have a story to tell you’, ‘I can’t afford a good mic but I have a song to sing for you,’ ‘I don’t have any kind of background in editing or lighting and I only just picked up this guitar last Tuesday but here’s an entire musical me and my friends wrote about our favourite book, we filmed it on a potato and put it up on YouTube in ten minute segments because we thought it was pretty funny.’

#everything felt so much less like Content then #and as someone who wants to share creative stuff online #it’s now incredibly daunting thinking about doing that bc #especially as a disabled person who can’t work full time #it feels almost impossible to extricate art from being Content #like there’s this immense pressure to produce things that could pass as professionally produced by a team of educated people #and to make smart decisions so that somehow eventually you can profit off your art #and instead of it being a ‘hey look at my silly little song’ it becomes #competing in an over saturated market already dominated by the nepotism afforded by wealth and connections #and it feels like it would very difficult not to measure my personal satisfaction with how a certain piece of art turned out #by how much attention it got online #even though I genuinely have zero desire to be famous and it sounds like a complete nightmare #anyway I’m gonna have ice cream for dinner how about you guys #hmp42

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sandersstudies · 3 months

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It really says something about the (non-black) History Buff amateur community when they get all excited that Queen Charlotte might have had <1% African heritage but then it’s crickets any time there’s content about an actual British-African person because it includes the evils of colonization, racism, and the slave trade and it’s more fun to point to a privileged 99% white lady and call her a biracial queen.

#now I’m white #so maybe this isn’t my place #but I follow a lot of history channels and content #and every black history month I see the way real african content is consumed #vs famous people with a great great great great black ancestor

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thepunkmuppet · 3 months

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gwen and alice toxic workplace yuri I LOVE YOU

#I SHIP THEM SO HARD ACTUALLY YOU DONT GET IT #THEYRE SO!!!!!!!!!!#it’s very MAHTIN IS SO ANNOYING AND USELESS AND I HATE HIM #enemies to lovers you will ALWAYS be famous #also SHIPS INCLUDING TRANS PEOPLE #SO IMPORTANT TO MEEEE #tmagp #the magnus protocol #tmagp vague #tmagp spoilers #gwendolyn bouchard #alice dyer #gwendalice #calling it right now i’m gonna be a pioneer #manifesting this to end up being atmagp heritage post #WE CAN DO IT GIYS

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foldingfittedsheets · 2 months

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I used to worry people wouldn’t like my silly nsfw stories if they followed me for cute long gay comics and now that two of my sex shop stories are blowing up I’m fretting all the new followers will get annoyed about the long gay comics.

Repeating my mantra: this is my blog and I post what I want to.

#ramblies #had a friend tell me I’m trying to be famous and I was like ??? I don’t think wanting people to see my art or read my writing is the same #I’m happy I’m getting more followers because it means more people interact with my creative works #which feels objectively different to how I think of Fame #I want people to like the final product: the art or story. I’m not necessarily building a brand around who I am as a person #I did originally make this tumblr to post my funny sex shop stories then moved on when I switched jobs and didn’t have an audience #and now that I do I have such a better writing voice to share them with so I’m happy people are enjoying them finally

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ghostbeam · 6 months

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Tomura shigaraki x reader, tomura is an art student, takes place in the same universe as my charcoal artist!dabi stuff, tomura is like very insecure in some of this, if the writing feels pretentious and flowery and unnecessary that’s because it is<3

His hair is getting long.

Running your fingers through the ends, you notice how it’s nearing his shoulders now. His head is in your lap, staring up at you as you lean against the mountain of pillows on your bed, clad in a pair of underwear and the tee shirt he arrived in. His jeans are stained with paint, hanging low on his hips, unbuttoned and quickly thrown on so he wasn’t naked and vulnerable in your lap. You thumb at the scar by the corner of his mouth and he kisses it, then your palm, then your wrist. Tomura takes your hand in between three careful fingers and places it over his heart.

Love is not how they told you it would be.

The two of you were assigned to the same group in painting iii, formed so that the students could give one another critiques independently. Only, you couldn’t find a single thing to critique in his work.

Tomura worked with oils—or Tomura lived and breathed and died for them. He painted people, always caught in a moment, in the middle of talking, or yelling, or drinking, or sleeping. His attention to detail was unlike anything you’d ever seen before, colors you’d never realized could appear in skin tones, shine on limbs and cheeks that made his subjects both more alive and human than any real person. His work felt sort of dirty, sweaty, perpetually damp. But it was beautiful. You couldn’t say a thing about it.

He’d confronted you about it one afternoon, stuffing handouts from the professor into his bag, which looked to be filled with more loose paper and no text books.

“Do you hate it that much?” It was the first time he’d ever talked to you, actually talked to you and not just about your work during a critique. “You never have anything to say.”

It stuns you for a moment, his anger and annoyance, how he’s decided to aim it at you instead of the group of people clamoring for issues with his painting all class period.

“I’m supposed to point out flaws, tell you where you could have done better, explain how I wasn’t moved,” you explain, staring down at your shoes, “but I can’t do that. There’s not—I don’t see how I could possibly tell you how you could do better.”

“That’s bullshit.” He mutters, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Don’t just say what I want to hear. I won’t like you any more for it.”

He leaves you standing alone in the classroom. Like you? He thought it was about being liked? You’re in such awe of him that you can’t speak, and he thinks you’re just trying not to hurt his feelings.

During the next class, when he stands before your group for critique, you don’t say a word. And he keeps looking at you like he’s waiting for it, like you’ll be angry enough at him for last week that you’ll rip his painting apart. But your silent, once again. Nothing’s changed.

He’s the first one out of the class once you’re dismissed. He walks fast, and you’re out of breath by the time you catch up with him, resting a hand on his shoulder that he flinches away from. Your breath comes out in quick puffs that you can see, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself as you fix him with a glare.

“You’re wrong.” You say once he’s turned around. “I don’t care if you like me or not after critique. It’s not about sparing your feelings. I’ve never seen anything like what you do. And I watch you in class, and you paint like something is clawing it’s way out of you, like you need to do it or you’ll die.”

“You’re honest with everyone else but me.” He argues, unable to accept your words. You have real things to say to your peers. You don’t hold back with them. You make them better. Why couldn’t you do that for him?

“You are not everyone else.” You watch his eyes widen at your words, and if you had any shame, maybe you wouldn’t have said something so bold. “You’re leagues above all of us. Everyone knows it, and that’s why they’re harsh on you.”

Where you say nothing, your group rips into him, picking at each and every detail until there’s nothing left. He takes it all in stride, accepting their words like it’s absolute truth, and returning to his canvas with sunken shoulders and furrowed brows, concentrated on how he could be better. It’s exactly what they want.

He opens his mouth the say something, but stops, feeling a drop of something fall on his cheek. He looks up at the dark clouds above the two of you, and it begins to rain. He curses, taking a hold of your hand and leading you underneath the front of the design building.

“They’re harsh because I deserve it.” He points out, still holding your hand. You could say a million things right now, tell him in detail how moved you are by every piece he makes, but his hand is still in yours, and you don’t trust yourself not to trip over your words because of it. You can only shake your head.

“Why can’t you accept that you’re brilliant?” You question, exasperated. It makes him laugh, his smile being something you’ve never seen before. It makes you think of all the people who have seen this smile before, the stretch of his lips, the creases by his eyes. Had they felt this lucky?

“I think you’re crazy.” He tells you, knocking his knuckles against your head.

“Do you wanna go out?” You ask before you’re able to stop yourself. He leans away from you, surprised.

“What?” You can’t find the words to speak, to tell him you’re sorry, that it was uncalled for, that you’re a total creep. His face is red, you notice. He speaks a moment later, “yes.”

Rising from your lap, he leans over you, kissing your lips with as much tenderness as he had your palm. Your lips are his favorite thing to paint, second only to your thighs which he grips tightly as he wraps your legs around his waist.

When he’d met you, all full of hope and belief in him of all people, he’d thought of you as such a faraway thing. Unattainable. If you couldn’t talk about his work, there was no way you’d ever talk to him. But he was wrong, something he rarely ever is, your faith in him changing how he viewed his own art forever.

He paints you. He paints you a lot. He even paints the two of you together, though your faces are never in those ones, just bodies tangled together on one canvas. He’d call you his muse if you didn’t hate it. And besides, he knows you’re so much more.

If there had been something inside of him clawing it’s way out, you had noticed it, freed it, kept it safe with you so it wasn’t so agonizing to carry on his own.

No, it’s not how they told him it would be at all.

#tomura shigiraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #bnha x reader #ghost.drabble #ghost.writes #sorry was suddenly consumed by art school au thoughts #oil painter tomura u will always be famous #in my brain his work reminds me of Malcom liepke btw #soooo yeah #anyways it’s 4am I’m gonna go sleep now byeeeeee

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leverage-ot3 · 5 months

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no one:

me: let’s check the vibe of the leverage facebook group

(blurred out my name for privacy)

at first people passed the vibe check with heart/care reacts, thumbs up… and then the boomers came

a lot of people settled on it’s some configuration of parker/eliot or hardison/eliot give off sibling vibes and hardison is dating parker, but a fair amount of folks said they would accept or would like the ot3. one based guy was like ‘if it drives the story then power to them’. someone else just commented ‘till my dying day’, another said ‘I mean… they already measured his head for the robot bodies’. someone else said they like brother sister eliot and parker but queerplatonic with parker and hardison dating is still good to them.

and then there was one woman who basically said if you don’t want honest answers you shouldn’t ask the questions and then said eliot is a good friend/brother to them and love does not need to be romantic or sexual to be strong (girlie what do you think queerplatonic means 😭💀)

also JUST got this gem (and am going to report them)