#and all i do is sit and think about u

[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.

[delicourse]

i miss them a little if im gonna be honest

[sandflakedraws]

some contextless flickory & one hickory drawing that my partner said looked like he was posing for a perfume ad

[ragingbullmode]

im seeing very little coverage (at least on here) about how moo dengs popularity on the internet is leading to her being harassed at the zoo as well as how the khao kheow open zoo has a history of multiple cases of animal abuse for sake of entertainment (tw for the last link specifically- its a video that begins with a few seconds of moo dengs image but shows a baby elephant being stabbed & swat with a stick by a keeper for ‘discipline’).

while im glad that moo deng IS bringing awareness & a new love for pigmy hippos (which have a dwindling suggested 2000-3000 number population in the wild), i think we should also take into account that not all zoos/animal sanctuaries take the best interests of the animals they are supposed to care for to heart- especially ones that put more of a focus on entertaining tourists than caring for their animals.

[blackholesun321]

Guys while hallucinating on my new meds, I came to the realization that Mihawk was out on the open seas as swordsman since he was a teenager maybe even younger…. Did he ever finish a normal education?

Scratch that did he even have a normal education? Does he know math? Can my guy tell me the quadratic formula? Like I think we all forget as individuals how much school taught us yes the school system is broken blah blah but guys we understand germ theory and how birds fly and chemistry and biology that people just 60 years ago wouldn’t have known and would have killed to know, like I’m sure he can write and I’m pretty sure he can read but does he know how the moon pulls the tide? Did he know the earth wasn’t flat until he saw a globe for the first time?

Have we as individuals been bamboozled by the stoic gothic refinement of luxury that Mihawk projects we completely overlooked they fact the guy probably doesn’t know salt is a rock? Like wanna bet he saw how cool the over the top refined gay goth was and just like tailored that too his vibe but he’s never actually read a classic in his life?

What I’m trying to get at is Shanks who grew up around some of the smartest people in the world who spoke multiple languages, one was a doctor and you know Rayliegh who definitely doubled as a quartermaster might have a higher education then Mihawk.

Like I think it would be funny if Shanks was the guy who read books on Philosophy and artistic historical movements throughout the world (cough to impress Mihawk cough) and Mihawk doesn’t know how fish breathe underwater and has never read anything higher the a YA novel. (Which are awesome books but talk about reading a book by its cover! Lol… I’ll see myself out.)

[batsplat]

Casey Stoner, Pushing the Limits

GP11:

GP12:

x

[luck-of-the-drawings]

POOR GABRIEL MONTEZ! YOU NEVER SAW THIS COMING DID YOU? ALL YOU WANTED WAS POWER. SECURITY. SAFETY. & THATS EXACTLY WHAT YOU GOT! JUST IN EXCHANGE FOR YOUR BODY. LETS JUST HOPE NO ONE FUCKS THIS UP. LETS JUST HOPE YOU WONT HAVE TO CLEAN UP THE MESS.

[kaisollisto]

(Based off of the reality of having a metal ring in your back as a constant reminder of your fate and how that affects you as a person set in the Switzerland arc)

“Does it hurt?” 

Ava’s pressed face down into the pillow sleep curling around her limbs. She hums, she can’t remember what she says, she’s exhausted. Her arms are tangled beneath her pillow. She holds her fingers tightly between each other, her bones ache from the pressure but her hands no longer shake. Ava hasn’t experienced this before, a fear that haunts her at night. (She finds she cannot stop dreaming about dying. It’s stifling in the cover of night trying to figure out where she is.) 

She slowly opens her eyes and squints in the darkness. Beatrice is facing her a furrow in her brow that Ava knows she’s doing unconsciously. Ava’s lip quirks a smidgen, Beatrice looks funny. It’s a bit silly to her, Beatrice no doubt working out a solution to an unknown problem that Ava has yet to see in the middle of the night. In her sleepy state she wants to laugh at the imaginary cogs churning in Beatrice’s head. 

Beatrice scooches closer and Ava panics, her skin can taste the dust of Bea’s forearm. She hoists herself up on her elbows, turning to face Beatrice. “Wha?” Ava’s shaking off bits of sleep from her mouth when Beatrice repeats herself. 

“Does the Halo hurt?” 

She doesn’t know if she wants to answer that. Ava peers over Beatrice squinting at the harsh light of the digital clock on Beatrice’s side. Ava loves it, it reminds her of the early 2000’s and the aesthetic of waking up to an alarm to go somewhere. The clock blinks an innocent 1:43 Am, and Ava debates on letting her head thump back down. 

She turns her body on her side, she can feel the halo shifting in her back and it makes her want to throw up. The sides of the halo press against her shoulder blades and Ava resists the urge to yank it out. She grits her teeth and settles ignoring the skin of her back pulling tight to accommodate for the ring. Beatrice is still expecting an answer and Ava can’t lie to her, she pulls the covers of the sheet up to her chest hoping to bide more time for an answer. 

"Everything hurts Bea," Ava smiles, "getting my ass handed to me is hard work."

Beatrice frowns displeased but looks at her through her lashes, it's unguarded, the stress and worries of the world stay out of their room in the dead of night. Her lashes are so pretty and Ava wants to curse the soft glow of the moon. There’s just enough moonlight to illuminate her eyes but overshadow her freckles. Ava swallows down the taste of defeat, she can’t win, she thinks. 

Her gaze is soft, Beatrice is looking at her and it’s different yet the same. The same feeling in her chest constricting her lungs, the same soft gaze of Beatrice. Beatrice who likes what she sees in Ava when Ava can barely see where she begins. She doesn’t like to dwell on it, the truth of the matter being what belongs to Ava.

If she closes her eyes she can pretend just a little longer. She can give herself the hope of the future and what comes after all this. She can put down the fighting and the artifact and live. Ava doesn't want to think about it anymore, at least not tonight when Beatrice is here with her. 

Beatrice is soft. She knows it from hours and hours of training. She's felt it when Beatrice corrects her form, in the way she talks. She speaks from a place of care like she has turned the harsh words in her brain over and over to soften the syllables spoken to Ava. And Ava doesn't linger on it, the meaning behind it, (Ava didn't think she'd make it this far, finding a person who cares quite like Bea does.)

And Ava's got it bad, she knows she's fucked because Beatrice doesn’t say anything about her language and Ava can't not tell her the truth. She looks down, her hand fiddling with the bed sheet underneath them. 

"It doesn't hurt," if she thinks about it she can feel the fibers of the cotton between the pads of her fingers. "But it's very uncomfortable." She doesn't want to find the response in Beatrice's eyes, content to hear it from her voice. The soft British lilting accent that holds her just as soft as a touch. 

She waits, she can picture Bea’s mannerisms with her eyes closed but maybe she should check just to be sure. Ava peers up at Beatrice and she’s suddenly closer. Her eyes really are pretty, there’s a depth to them that Ava wants to spend an ungodly amount of time studying.

“Can I help?”

[actualbird]

musings on marius' loneliness and songs i think that fit him

"Love From The Other Side" by Fall Out Boy | "Cautionary Tales" by Jon Bellion | "Not What I Meant" by dodie | "A Place To Call Home" by Stereo Honey | "Golden" by Fall Out Boy | "Anyway" by Kerrigan and Lowdermilk

[kindahoping4forever]

📸: Ryan Fleming

[mohntilyet]

To be fair to "illario is bad at lying" I don't think he had a contingency plan for "my cousin who I tried to have murdered came back after a whole year of being tortured in an underwater prison by the lady I've been sleeping with and he's an abomination now, also I have to pretend my grandma got murdered." His plan got monumentally fucked up

THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYIINNGGG. no matter how good or bad you are, i do not seriously think there’s a way to prepare for all that and then execute a follow up plan that’s not just “oh fuck i gotta do something” i think. of course this could have been avoided if he just killed lucanis himself but i like to think he has a heart in there

[cheriboms]

doctober day 17: einstein

okay so theres a bit in the game where young emmett is testing einstein on his multiplication tables. there is ALSO a bit where marty tells einstein to sit/stay and he doesnt listen. thus i present my hypothesis, which is that doc 100% had his priorities straight during the puppy years

[boygirlctommy]

3 YEARS SINCE CTOMMY DIED... GOOD LORD

[samarecharm]

Love being able to write. I can do whatever i want. I can make Ryuji interact w Lala-chan and u literally cant stop me.

[b4kuch1n]

hi! birthday. which means it's finally time t

yo what the itch store is fixed up now

damn what? I don't know where this came from. look all the comics I put on g*mr**d a year ago are back here again with all the formatting and typesetting by @fireflysummers as well as the exclusive bonus art wtf who did this. my werewolf comic on here too what the hells!! that one also got re-toned for printing if u want to AND an exclusive cover spread !!! what the fuck!!!!! come see for urself I can't make this shit up