#and it needed to pay rent

[askathewierdo]

I just have the scene in my head where the Baku squad is together for something and Kaminari tries to give Bakugou a high five but missed and hit his arm instead and just....

Kaminari: Dude your hands not as sweaty as usual, are you dehydrated?

Bakugou: You idiot that was my forearm.

Kaminari: Don't be silly! I know you only have two arms!

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[wanologic]

The Mansons have Infinite Money

[bloominflowers]

i like them a very normal amount 😳

[wellfine]

[moderndaypandora]

i recognize that simon and edwin meeting and parting in hell is narratively very good and provides closure for all. but imagine if simon had agreed to try and escape with edwin. and charles doesn't have time to really question it, because anybody who likes edwin is aces in his book and it's hell, they need to leave. (edwin, out of courtesy to their third companion, puts his plan to confess on hold until they've escaped.)

suddenly the edwin harem of "supernatural boys who all hate each other but are attracted to that negative rizz" gains another member, and at some point edwin is going to have to mention that simon was the boy who sacrificed him to hell.

the chaos. crystal's bitchy commentary. charles going from friendly smiling to clutching his cricket bat. niko's whispering "200k slow burn schoolboy rivals to lovers" with heart eyes. it'd be chef's kiss good. edwin fleeing to his books and praying that nobody, but especially not the cat king, finds him because there has been SO MUCH emotion already. hysterical.

[sonknuxadow]

its kinda funny that the chaotix are like the only characters who mention having to pay rent or buy food or whatever and theyll take any job that pays because theyre desperate for money but none of the other characters are struggling in this department at all even though most of them dont seem to have jobs. its like the concept of needing money to live exists for no one in the sonic universe EXCEPT for vector espio and charmy

[gremnda]

don't forget to give your flower husband a kiss!

[handweavers]

my life is kind of funny because i literally can't get walmart or ikea to hire me for even a part time seasonal position working a cash register but i can get the canadian federal government to pay for all of my expenses, fees, and living costs to travel internationally to weave on a loom in an old building somewhere for 2 months at a time

[jesuistrestriste]

Projecting cos i need money but payipig art ...need him to buy me shoes and ask me to step on him with them

art would absolutely spoil you. he’s got a lot of money from his tennis career, and he’d like nothing more than to spend all of it on a beautiful, dominant individual.

you two met through a kink website and now he’s your personal wallet. and he prides himself in that title ! he’s given you his credit card to keep when he’s off to train at the courts, or when he’s at a match, or when he’s doing press interviews for sports magazines.

his cock gets impossibly hard when you tell him how much money you’re draining from his bank account each day. you usually inform him through texts..

200 dollars down the drain, baby.. just got a new pair of heels 💋

he swallows and texts you back quick.

can i please see them?

a notification from you pops up a minute later.

attachment: one image

he fumbles with his fingers, desperately tapping the banner at the top of his screen, and he has to stifle a whine when he opens the photo in your guys’ chat. it’s a picture of your limbs from the calves down; a pair of sleek, tall, black heels slipped over your feet.

his lips part, drunk with lust, and he feels his mouth go dry in an instant. pulses of heat flood his gut and he lets out a shaky breath as he texts you back.

oh god… they’re perfect on you.

you’re perfect.

please..

the response from you comes a minute later, and art has to resist the urge the shove his hand down into his pants.

you like? xx

his brows pinch together and he replies quick.

are you kidding? i love them. i really want to see you later. can we meet?

two texts from you follow.

hmm. maybe. i’m pretty busy today, but i could probably squeeze you in after i make a trip to chanel and blow another 500 bucks ..

i can bring the shoes.

now he’s nearly panting like a dog as he spares a glance down to the tent in his clothes before his fingers are back on the screen. he blows up your phone.

oh please, yes.

yes, yes, yes… i want you to step on me when you get here.

kick me, spit on me, tell me what a worthless guy i am.. i don’t care.

tell me im only good for my money and that’s it. please.

i’m begging you, goddess.

his hips are twitching against the fabric and his lids flutter as he imagines all the things you might do to him later.. god, he needs you like air. his eyes roll back, and he lets a little moan slip out.

he wants you to use him.

a small *ding* from his phone sends his baby blues darting back down.

one text from you. one sentence. it gets him leaking copiously.

see you in an hour 💋

[liesmultixxx]

the amount of time i spend thinking about percabeth is unreal

[schattengesang]

🧀📸

[dragonpyre]

Unironically need a modern fantasy story a la Percy Jackson or *gags* Harry Potter where the characters have to save the day, but they're all in college and need to study for their midterms as well as kill the demon king or whatever

[harbingersecho]

they had to pause their morning workout to drive wash to the ER at 7 am bc he somehow got hit by a car while getting mail. there's traffic. maine fiddles with the radio and carolina is imagining herself parkouring over the other cars

[to-illustrate-the-stars]

happy birthday to the cat lover ever of all time... my worstie matoba seiji 🐈‍⬛🐈

[djdrawerworld]

I'm so normal about him please believe me