#assuming that’s what they want to do

[mynnthia]

was talking with a friend about how some of dunmeshi fаndom misunderstands kabru's initial feelings towards laios.

to sum up kabru's situation via a self-contained modernized metaphor:

kabru is like a guy who lost his entire family in a highly traumatic car accident. years later he joins a discord server and takes note of laios, another server member who seems interesting, so they start chatting. then laios reveals his special interest and favorite movie of all time is David Cronenberg's Crash (1996), and invites kabru to go watch a demolition derby with him

[wispscribbles]

I love your ghost design. I wanna squeeze him :⁠^⁠)

If no hug then why hug-shaped???

[egophiliac]

crossing my fingers and wishing upon every star that chapter 10 finally brings us the tweel cards 🤞🤞

[tsmerch]

Do you think they’ll be 1989 signed CDs? I only have hope since this will be the hardest album to outsell the original

I don’t. I think the presales have already outsold the original so they’re not going to push more than they want to.

[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.

[lucabyte]

On autonomy, and what it means to be Obliged to Help.

Bonus:

[astearisms]

but it ain’t called love without a little tragedy 🍁

[goat-moth-thing]

i wish more people would understand that trying to label a nonbinary person as transmasc or transfem is still forcing them into a binary

[scribefindegil]

When you encounter a person who does not do something that you consider normative, you need to understand that they could be either stating a barrier or expressing a boundary. A barrier is "I would like to partake of the normative activity, but I can't due to other factors." A boundary is "I have made a decision not to participate in the normative activity."

Many people do not believe that boundaries actually exist! This is why it's so common to give a clear "No" on an issue and get inundated with people saying "But have you tried-" They can't conceptualize that anyone might actually want to avoid X thing, so they assume that you totally want to do X and you would love X so much if only they could figure out a way around whatever pesky obstacle is getting in your way. But humanity contains multitudes, and for any given experience you consider vital for happiness I promise there are people who are Just Not Interested.

If someone is stating a boundary, do NOT talk about how sad their life must be, and do NOT try to push them! Just accept that their life experience is very different from your own, and isn't that a beautiful thing?

Barriers are different. Barriers suck. With boundaries, the only problem is other people being dicks. With barriers, the problem is the barrier itself . . . and probably, additionally, people being dicks. There's really not a way to win in the people being dicks department when you don't do something that other people have decided is Necessary For Humaning.

If someone is talking about a barrier they face, still don't talk about how sad their life must be, although it's fine to commiserate with a friend if they're complaining. It's hard! Some barriers are pretty insurmountable; the person might not ever get to do X even though they want to. And a lot of people don't believe that this kind of barrier exists either; we're very much taught that you can do anything if you try hard enough, when that is simply not true. If someone tells you that they can't do something, listen to them and respect that.

The only reason for not doing X that people really acknowledge as real are the surmountable barriers. And these are real, but even in these cases you should always assume that the person knows themself best and not give advice unless they've specifically asked for it. But if they have asked, it's chill to try to brainstorm solutions with them.

As someone who has both things going on, it really sucks that people tend to assume that everything is a) a barrier issue and b) that they personally have the solution to it. Don't do this.

The only way you can tell if something is a boundary or a barrier is to listen to people and believe them.

Example:

If you offer someone a drink and they say, "No thanks . . . I haven't really found anything that I like yet," (barrier, potentially surmountable) it is probably cool to ask them if they're open to trying something new, and if they say yes ask about their tastes to try to find a drink they would enjoy! They might like it or they might not.

If you offer someone a drink and they say, "I can't, it interacts with my meds," (barrier, insurmountable) you can say, "Aw, that sucks!" and offer them something nonalcoholic.

If you offer someone a drink and they say, "I don't drink," (BOUNDARY) you should give them a mocktail and shut the fuck up.

[radiance1]

So, Danny was effectively homeless.

His parents are dead, his sister is dead, his friends are dead. Hell, even Vlad, Vlad kicked the fucking bucket which, Danny genuinely never expected.

Vlad was supposed to be his nemesis, his main bad guy, the guy Danny's supposed to constantly pull everything out against just to win. Not to mention how significant his presence was.

A part of him assumed that Vlad would always be there and him not being there and knowing he won't be there ever again is... weird.

So you're probably asking, how exactly did this happen?

Well you see, the nasty burger exploded, for one thing. Then when he was under Vlad's care both of them got outed for being ghosts to the GIW, which was technically Danny's fault, since he did something extremely stupid.

Somehow they got caught, and life under the GIW was not great in the slightest. The constant experiments, the dehumanization (Sometimes Danny doesn't even register himself as human), the amount of times their feelings were utterly disregarded, and so, so much more.

The GIW found Vlad to be more dangerous than Danny, even if he lacked the raw power Danny had his intellect made him dangerous and for good reason. For it was because of said intellect that Danny managed to escape.

Vlad didn't manage to do the same.

Danny hated reliving that memory. Because Vlad was a villain, evil and self-serving, he shouldn't be sacrificing himself for his literal greatest enemy to escape in his stead (Not that Vlad would say Danny was his greatest, he would probably say it was the person who refused him to buy the packers). It was just, so utterly stupid and out of character for him.

So, Danny managed to escape, Vlad died. He couldn't even say anything about Dani because she got destabilized in front of him, in front of both of them actually. It hurt to watch and, he didn't quite know the specifics between Dani and Vlad anymore, but he thinks they were getting... better.

Not how it was when Dani was first created, but Vlad was working on mending it. Which, honestly, just makes everything worse.

Danny isn't powerless but it's a damn close thing. He's far weaker than he normally would be, and he's injured on top of that too boot, his powers can barely work and it's just so stupid.

So here he was, hiding out in some random sewer because he didn't want to take the risk of being on the surface and he hates the smell, but he'll take that over being experimented on again. So, Danny spends most of his time in the sewers of this place called Gotham, he even managed to make his own little area with a couch he stole and a few other appliances that were thrown out.

He lacked a Tv or laptop, but he found a yo-yo! Most of his time was spent practicing various tricks with his yo-yo.

It got boring fast. But it was really the only safe thing he could do when waiting for his powers to come back. At least he's a god at yo-yoing now.

It was while doing various tricks with it in some random sewer path, that a literal, goddamn crocodile-man just splashed up from sewer water and half-laid on the edge, since his lower body was still in the water.

Danny looked at his yo-yo, the crocodile, and then slowly stepped on over and gently poked the crocodile dude.

He made a sound, so he was alive!

Finally! Someone to appreciate his godly yo-yoing skills!

[welcometogrouchland]

ANOTHER SKETCH DUMP! Featuring more of me playing with lineless art. Batman reborn era trio (dick, damian and steph) I miss you...when will you return from war. Also featuring Steph designs bc I've seen ppl dissatisfied w/ her current look, some good mom Talia, and Jason Todd poetry club. Duke is confused not that Jason would start a poetry club but that he'd have such mid poetry opinions. (ID in Alt)

[copia]

"It. Is. Going great, now. Innit."

PAPA EMERITUS IV and SISTER IMPERATOR in RITE HERE RITE NOW (with ASHLEY MCBRIDE and KEVIN "JESUS" KAUFMANN)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Get Their Ass.

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[lazylittledragon]

ok i swear i'm not going to talk about my breakup forever but the thing that just keeps bothering me:

i know that not getting what you need in a relationship is a COMPLETELY valid reason to end it but also. i feel like having a very vulnerable moment where i opened up about my struggles with intimacy and being relieved that i didn't have to keep doing things i wasn't comfortable with, then being dumped a YEAR later because of my lack of intimacy. is something i should be allowed to be very hurt by???

[mikkeneko]

Don't want to put this on the post itself for risk of derailing it, but that post the other day about Terry Pratchett's early work really stuck in my mind. OP had sent in an ask saying that they heard some of Pratchett's earlier works had problematic elements (not unusual for a male english writer in the 80s) and they weren't sure whether to go ahead with reading the work anyway.

What I really want to ask that person, or indeed all persons who are hesitating over whether or not to read problematic works or works by imperfect authors:

What are you worried about happening, if you read a work with problematic elements?

I'm worried that if I read this art, I will run across hateful images or words that will shock or upset me

I'm worried that I will spend money on a work of art that then financially supports a bad person, and that thought makes me uncomfortable or upset

I'm worried that I will read works of art written by a bad person, and comment or react on them, and other people will see what I am reading and will think less of me because of it, or will assume that I hold the same bad beliefs as the author

I'm worried that I will read works of art written by a bad person, and I will enjoy them, and the author will find out about my enjoyment and feel emboldened to do bad things because of it

I'm worried that I will read works of art written by a bad person, and their badness will contaminate my way of thinking and make me a worse person in turn

Because these are all different answers and some of them are more actionable than others

[inkskinned]

you wanted to be a good friend, because you loved your friends, but the truth was that everyone else somehow had a pamphlet on being normal that you never received. most of the time you learn by trial-and-error. you are terrified of the next big mistake you make, because it seems like the rules are completely arbitrary.

you've learned to keep the prickly parts of your personality in a stormcloud under your bed - as if they're a second version of you; one that will make your friends hate you. it feels feral, burning, ugly.

instead, you have assembled habits based on the statistical likelihood of pleasing others. you're a good listener, which is to say - if you do speak up, you might end up saying the wrong thing and scaring off someone, but people tend to like someone-who-listens. or you've got no true desires or goals, because people like it when you're passive, mutable. you're "not easy to fluster" which is to say - your emotions are fundamentally uninteresting to others around you; so you've learned to control them to a degree that you can no longer really feel them happening.

you have long suspected something is wrong with you, but most of the time, googling doesn't help. you are so-used to helping-yourself, alone and with no handbook. the reek of your real self feels more like a horrible joke - you wake up, and, despite all your preparations, suddenly the whole house is full of smoke. the real you is someone waiting to ruin your other-life, the one where you're normal and happy. the real-self is unpredictable, angry.

your real self snarls when people infantilize the whole situation. because if you were really suffering, everyone seems to think you'd be completely unable to cope. but you already learned the rules, so you do know how to cope, and you have fucking been coping. it's not black-and-white. it's not that you are healed during the other times - it's just that you're able to fucking try. and honestly, whenever you show symptoms, it's a really fucking bad sign.

because the symptoms you have are ugly and unmanageable for others. your symptoms aren't waifish white girl things. they're annoying and complicated. they will be the subject of so many pretentious instagram reels. if they cared about you, they'd just show up on time. you care, a lot, so deeply it burns you. you like to picture a world where the comments read if they loved you, they'd never need glasses to see. but since that's a rule you've seen repeated - "one must never be late or you are a bad friend" - you constantly worry about being late and leave agonizingly early. there are no words for how you feel when you're still late; no matter how hard you were trying.

so you have to make up for it. you have to make up for that little horrible real you that you keep locked in a cabinet. you are bad at answering emails so every project you make has to be perfect. you are weird and sensitive so you have to learn to be funny and interesting. you are an inconvenience to others, so you become as smooth as possible, buffing out all the rough parts.

all this. all this. so people can pass their hands over you and just tell you just the once -how good you are. you're a good friend. you're loveable.