veggieheist
~veggieheist~
It's just you, watching me, watching you (and reblogging Star Wars stuff)
✨author of 'Chains' on AO3✨
❤️veggieheist_art on Instagram ❤️
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Ch 92 is UP!!
Summary:
Kylo Ren was supposed to go to Jakku to find information on Luke's whereabouts, but the Force-sensitive girl in the slaver's auction was too interesting to leave behind. Rey has only ever known the life of a slave on Jakku, bought and sold from master to master, but the mysterious and terrifying creature who now owns her is like no master she's ever had before.
Chapter 92: A Beep in the Night (excerpt below)
Rey laid awake in her bed, unsure how long she’d been trying to get her heartbeat under control, but she knew if she didn’t find sleep soon she was going to be miserable in the morning.
She just couldn’t believe that she’d said all of those things to Lord Ren.
He had obviously not wanted to speak about Visser Ren at all, and she could understand why. Lord Tomaxx had basically forced their master’s hand by mentioning the dead Knight to her, and Rey knew that confirming that he’d killed his comrade—his best friend—even if justified, must have been difficult for Lord Ren. Not to mention reliving those memories on top of it all.
Rey understood why he’d wanted to keep it a secret, because she tried to avoid talking about Nybian for much the same reason: It’s difficult to talk about something you carry so much grief and guilt over.
Rey wasn’t exactly sure how she knew this about him—Lord Ren was still incredibly hard to read—but after seeing the memory of Nybian she’d gotten a Feeling, which had led to something of an epiphany. And as she’d (continue reading on AO3)
🌟⚡️🌟⚡️🌟⚡️🌟⚡️🌟⚡️🌟⚡️🌟⚡️🌟⚡️🌟⚡️🌟⚡️🌟⚡️🌟⚡️🌟⚡️🌟⚡️🌟⚡️
Chapter 1: The Auction ＊／＊ Chapter 91: Speaking of Ghosts
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#Chains#fanfic#reylo#reylo fanfic#rey#kylo ren#girl#lord ren#knights of ren#OC knights of ren#KoR#force bond#the force#Master/Slave#slave rey#master ren#a beep in the night#ao3#angst
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This is one of the funniest holiday cards I have ever seen.
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Hiiiii sorry I’ve been so absent 🥲 I finally felt motivated to draw something though, and my hand felt healed enough (after resting it for a year 😐) to draw, so here ya goooo: a cozy Reylo scene 😌🔥��️✨❤️
#Reylo#reyloart#Reylo art#Rey#Kylo ren#Ben solo#cozy#snow#Christmas#reylomas#hot chocolate#digital art#procreate#veggieheist
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Hello all, sorry for disappearing. I'm not dead, just anxious and tired 🥲
#cant write under these circumstances#also my hand is still fucked so i cant draw#im basically useless
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Secrets beneath the bleachers…..
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#this is just a joke#i have chains planned out#but sometimes its fun to antagonize agent K when she asks me where things are going
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IM NOT CRYING, YOU'RE CRYING 😭❤️🥺❤️
Story Time: Get a load of what happened to me at Starbucks today.
There’s a running joke among people who know me personally that I unwittingly go out in public with a sign on my forehead stating “I Am Non-Threatening. Come Talk To Me.” Because if there’s a chance a bizarre conversation with a total stranger is going to happen, I’m typically the person it happens to.
Some context: I have been pretty darn sick this week. (It’s not Coronavirus, don’t worry.) Since the work in my queue for my day job is comprised entirely of audio narration right now, and I currently sound like a waterlogged Demi Moore, I haven’t been able to work these last couple of days. As a result, I’ve been using my down time to knock out as much of Manu’s redesign as possible. Today, to ensure I didn’t spend the day languishing in sinus misery, I medicated the crap out of myself and took Manu to the Starbucks down the block from my son’s day care.
I hit the bathroom, then picked an empty table, but as soon as I sat down with my venti Comfort Tea and started tweaking the inks on my iPad, I felt the eyes of the man next to me looking over my shoulder.
When I looked up, he had his phone out. “I’m sorry,” he said (in a thick accent I couldn’t place geographically), “I don’t want to disturb. I notice you art. You are artist!”
I tried to smile. “Yes, I’m... Well, I’m trying to be,” I croaked.
He leaned in, like he was sharing a secret.
“I am artist, too.”
He stuck out his hand.
I gently took it, grateful for the bathroom trip I just took in which I washed the scourge off of my fingers.
“Can I?” he asked, holding his phone up.
“Take a picture? Uh... sure,” I said. It’s not like he would be able to steal Manu out from under me or anything, I figured. The panel I was tweaking was magnified out to Guam.
“I am artist. Architect and Designer,” he clarified while he steadied his phone over my iPad. “I am Ilker. What is your name?”
“I’m Venessa” I said, trying to be polite. This, I thought warily, is precisely how I get myself into trouble. I’m too damn nice.
“You know, I come to America twenty years ago from Turkey...”
I put down my stylus. This was going to be a while.
“I like Turkey,” he explained. “I like the country and I like the people. But I am artist. I am not... religious man.”
I nodded.
“I told my wife I was going to go to America and she said, “what are you going to do? You don’t have job! You don’t have money! No Visa!” And I said, “I am artist and architect. I will paint and sell my paintings.
“So I come to America alone. To New York City. I sit outside, and I paint. And people, they liked my paintings. They bought them. This one for $30, that one for $50.
“One day, a man comes over to me and he say, “I like your painting. I see you are also architect.” And he gives me his number and asks me to go to meeting at his office. Because he wants to offer me a job. He starts to talk about a building contract.
“I tell him I don’t know anything about contracts. I have no Visa. I am not American citizen. But he says, “That’s okay. I will take care of everything. You will have nothing to worry about.” And this man, he gave me a job. $173,000 a year. And my wife, he gave her a job too. She was project assistant. I bring her and my two daughters over from Turkey.”
“Wow,” I said, not fully believing the veracity of what sounded like a full-on immigration fairy tale.
“Here,” said Ilker, unlocking his phone and opening up his Facebook app. “I show you my work.” He paused and looked up at me. “I am interrupting. You don’t mind?”
At this point, I was invested. I had to see. Because whatever he was about to show me would either prove or disprove this yarn he was spinning. “Please,” I said, gesturing for him to go ahead.
He opened his photos and my jaw dropped. His work... was UNREAL.
“This is building I designed on Madison Ave.... And this one in Chelsea...”
Holy crap. I had just been to Chelsea with my sister last month on a trip to see a broadway show. I had crossed the intersection of the building he was, at this moment, telling me he designed.
He flipped through more buildings. These, he’d designed in Washington, DC. In Bethesda. In Arlington. All beautiful, streamlined, modern structures I had visited and parked my car in front of. He told me he did much of his concept work freehand. That he worked exclusively in natural media. His preferred media was pen, ink, watercolors, and chalks.
Between photos of his wife and daughters, he went on to show me photos from the RUSSIAN EXHIBITION OF HIS ARCHITECTURE ARTWORK.
Y’all, I was stunned. I couldn’t believe the talent I was sitting next to. Scattered among these gloriously rendered images of some of the most beautiful building concepts I’d ever seen were paintings of scenes in Central Park, the National Mall, and nudes from a life-drawing session he attends from time to time.
When he was done flipping through his phone, he looked at me and smiled. “I hope you don’t mind that I interrupt you. I show you all this because what you are doing is very good. And you should be encouraged. To draw is to make beauty.”
I nodded, a lump in my throat. “Thank you,” I managed. “Your work is astonishing. I don’t even know what to say. What is your name again?”
He held out his hand once more. “Ilker Kocahan,” he said. “I am getting more coffee. Can I get you one?”
I looked at my still-full venti cup. “No thank you. But here, please take my card.”
He held my dinky business card like I’d handed him a treasure and thanked me.
Then Ilker got his coffee, and left the coffee shop.
At some point in his ramblings he talked about America as a place of dreams. How he credits this country with helping him rise to the top of his field where he is now able to sell his paintings for $800-$1000 a piece now that he’s retired. My heart ached to hear him talk about that, knowing how our leadership’s positions on immigrants have taken such a dark and horrifying turn.
Imagine the buildings and museums and public places that would never have been if a business man in the park hadn’t lifted up a Turkish painter who spoke little English.
And now that painter was paying it forward on me.
I still feel pretty darn sick. I’ve still got body aches and a nose that has taken the rest of my face hostage.
But today was a really good day. And I just wanted to share it with you in case you are looking for reasons to keep drawing/painting/dancing/writing. It all counts and it is all good.
If you would like to see Ilker Kocohan’s work, please click here.
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It's both
What if life isn't expensive and we are all just drastically drastically underpaid?
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god the way people talk to their pets
like i’m calling myself out here but i just uttered the words “you did the stretch and now the rare and powerful double pets” (two hands at once!!) to my cat without a trace of irony
like i do not believe my cat understands a word of what i am saying but he absolutely knows my voice and i think also my tone? but also all day i’m just randomly looking over at him like “good boy!” or “are you fluffy?” or singing little songs about his current fluff levels. to an animal. a wonderful animal but a creature who absolutely does not speak english and probably only vaguely is like “this creature is communicating with me” when the strange noises come from the person’s mouth
like i just think about this sometimes
i never wanted to baby talk this cat, i dislike the whole “i am a cat mom and this is my baby” thing, he is a cat, i am a person, and yet i just spend all day talking at him. while typing this he rolled over to show off his tummy and i had to restrain myself from saying “you got a tummy?” aloud. and then i did it anyway
(he is indeed in possession of a tummy)
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Oh wow. I used to take this train sometimes 😯 Tsunan was beautiful and very countryside.
飯山線 津南駅
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This picture has been circulating all over social media and I have more to add:
Delete all period cycle tracking apps off your phone today.
Do not tell anyone why you want to take your trip, especially over text/apps.
Do not tell anyone the real state/destination of your trip.
Have everyone on your trip turn off their phones. Use written directions or a burner phone. Do not use burner phone to open any personal apps. Dispose of after trip.
Only use cash while purchasing ANYTHING on your trip.
Take “vacation” photos to post later. Be cautious of geo-tags/only post screenshots of the original photos.
Some people might say this is being extra or overly precautious, but this really is the reality we are facing. People have been imprisoned with murder charges in certain states- some for literal miscarriages. If you are a person that ends up in this situation, the state can and will use your data against you as evidence in court. Do not leave a paper trail. If they want to treat us like criminals, we’re gonna move like criminals.
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artists fuck better because we turn sex into art, masterpieces, mattresses become canvases where we can paint our love to someone with bodies.
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