“What is it, Jane? What’s the one thing that could put it over?” And here they are. August and Jane and the third rail and the thing she’s prepared to do, and Jane is looking at August like she’s breaking her heart. “It’s you,” Jane says.
Finished reading One Last Stop recently and just her I’d do anything for her.
Note: the author didn’t specify what the cantonese word she had tattooed on her, so I decided to go with “pride” (positive not derogatory). But I’m not 100% sure that this is the correct way of writing it so please feel free to correct me and I’ll use the corrected version for future drawings!
Finished reading One Last Stop recently and just her I’d do anything for her.
Note: the author didn’t specify what the cantonese word she had tattooed on her, so I decided to go with “pride” (positive not derogatory). But I’m not 100% sure that this is the correct way of writing it so please feel free to correct me and I’ll use the corrected version for future drawings!
I’m on my second Casey McQuiston novel and the protagonists really do go
Wow my friend is so hot. They keep sending me love songs and saying they want to see me. They’re gay and I’m the most useless bisexual, and they pinned me to the wall and kissed me and all but what if they don’t actually like me?
Somebody else says they look at me with undisguised eroticism & love but I think it’s an exaggeration. I think about my friend so much that it’s fucking with my ability to complete basic tasks. Last week they told me they couldn’t live without me but it’s probably platonic.
I dreamt about us making love. My friend sent me another message saying they are longing for my touch and GOD me too. I’d tell them I love them but what if they don’t return my feelings?
They kissed me passionately again and it had such incredible homoerotic tension but I was probably misreading the situation. They’re the most exquisite creature I’ve ever seen & I can’t stop thinking about their lips. They said that I—
nobody tells you how those nights that stand out in your memory—levee sunset nights, hurricane nights, first kiss nights, homesick sleepover nights, nights when you stood at your bedroom window and looked at the lilies one porch over and thought they would stand out, singular and crystallized, in your memory forever—they aren’t really anything. they’re everything, and they’re nothing. they make you who you are, and they happen at the same time a twenty-three-year-old a million miles away is warming up some leftovers, turning in early, switching off the lamp. they’re so easy to lose. you don’t learn until you’re older how to zoom out of that extreme proximity and make it fit into the bigger picture of your life.
jane’s leaning against a pole, leather jacket shrugged down to her elbows and backpack slouching off one shoulder, headphones on, black hair falling in her eyes as she nods to the beat. and it’s just…hope.
@storyseekers event 14: book to read to understand me
like - okay, I dated this girl who was an artist, right? and she’d do figure drawing where she’d draw the negative space around a person first, and then fill in the person. and that’s how I’m trying to look at it. maybe I don’t know what fills it in yet, but I can look at the space around where I sit in the world, what creates that shape, and I can care about what it’s made of, if it’s good, if it hurts anyone, it makes people happy, if it makes me happy. and that can be enough for now.
you can try, she guesses. you can tear yourself apart and rebuild from scratch, bring yourself to every corner of the map, sew a new self from the scraps of a thousand other people and places. you can try to escape to fill a different shape. but at the end of the day, there’s a place at the foot of the bed where your shoes hit the floor, and it’s the same. it’s always the same.
finished my arc of One Last Stop in one night and had to make fanart IMMEDIATLY (preorder it now so that you too can be in sapphic heaven come June 1st)
“She wants somewhere to belong, things that hold the shape of her body even when she’s not touching them, a place and a purpose and a happy, familiar routine. She wants to be happy. To be well. She wants to feel it all without being afraid it’ll fuck her up.”
There was this girl. I met her on a train. The first time I saw her, she was covered in coffee and smelled like pancakes, and she was beautiful like a city you always wanted to go to, like how you wait years and years for the right time, and then as soon as you get there, you have to taste everything and touch everything and know every street by name. I felt like I knew her. She reminded me who I was. She had soft lips and green eyes and a body that wouldn’t quit. Hair like you wouldn’t believe. Stubborn, sharp as a knife. And I never, ever wanted a person to save me until she did.
There was this girl. I met her on a train. The first time I saw her, she was covered in coffee and smelled like pancakes, and she was beautiful like a city you always wanted to go to, like how you wait years and years for the right time, and then as soon as you get there, you have to taste everything and touch everything and know every street by name. I felt like I knew her. She reminded me who I was. She had soft lips and green eyes and a body that wouldn’t quit. Hair like you wouldn’t believe. Stubborn, sharp as a knife. And I never, ever wanted a person to save me until she did.
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