#but after a certain amount of time

[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.

[ratwithhands]

A few days ago I woke up bleary eyed, sat down at my computer, and spat this out.

Mostly just a bit of goofy sketching but here's magical boy (magical man?) submas

I'm not gonna flesh this out a whole bunch since there's not much I can really do with it, but some rough notes:

Both of them have two soul stones, one in the hat and one in the staff. In their base uniform, the staff's stone is on the back of their gloves, separating when activated

They're only able to activate their abilities when they're with each other. Though they can both separately fight and return to normal, they need each other to begin the reaction and use their powers. Should one of them go missing, the other will not be able to use their abilities

The stone can be removed from the staff, returning to the hand if it is. The purpose of doing this is to replace it with a pokeball, allowing the staff to channel the pokemon's moves along with its standard attacks (electricity for Emmet, fire for Ingo)

Ingo and Emmet can trade (or steal) clothes mid transformation, switching pieces or entire uniforms. Emmet will typically borrow Ingo's darker gloves and boots if he expects to get particularly violent in battle, while Ingo usually takes Emmet's white accessories since he finds them more classy than his full black uniform

They are able to float in their magical forms, mostly using the levitation to run loops around their opponents and pressure them from all sides

The only opponent is literally Team Plasma, this power is reserved solely for beating grunts, sages, or Ghetsis should they ever cross paths (technically the code is to defend the world from evil but for any other issue they'll either settle it normally or with pokemon battling)

This was mostly for shits and giggles but I hope you enjoy 👍

[vividaway-art]

more bailey-bill content, and some backstory below the photo (and lore in the tags)

Bailey is very shy, sheltered, and minimally speaking. She's neurodivergent, but because she's never seen a doctor outside of her keepers (see tags for context) she never got a specific diagnosis. she never does, but she's heavily autistic coded. She likes to learn a lot but she’s a big Left Brain Gal and focuses heavily in the visual arts. She’s a mind reader and psychic so she gets visions of whats going to happen. This is why she was taken away by scientists as a baby, to research and study her weirdness. 

When she first moved in with the Pines Brothers, things were obviously very tense. 90% of her contact with humans was bad and neglectful, and so she was EXTREMELY terrified of the men. It took her bonding with stans logic and street smarts before she came out of her shell and started to trust anyone around her. it took months before she felt safe leaving the bunker, and it took even longer for her to trust Dipper and Mabel when they finally arrived. Bailey was thrown off by Mabel’s personality because she didn’t understand how she was so accepting and outgoing. She related more mentally with Dipper.

She’s really really smart, and probably has some form of photographic memory. She likes to create art to get the visions out of her head, and as you can expect, she’s seen a lot of trauma predictions that have come true, and other visions that are traumatic. She’s just a teen girl trying to navigate her life in gravity falls!

[bacchuschucklefuck]

pygmalion and galatea for aroace people

you should tell your friends what I look like, riz gukgak.

[clementine-thedestroyer]

I imagine Price and Simon as both having shower benches, but Price has one of the nice ones you can buy at a home improvement store and Simon has one of the kinda crappy plastic and metal ones you pick up for 50 bucks at CVS.

Like Price’s was one that came with the house when he bought it, but he never took it out because it’s the kind that screws into the wall and folds up when you’re not using it, so it’s not like it’s much of an eye sore or in the way. Plus, taking it out would mean patching the shower tile and dealing with all that mess- and as much as he didn’t like to admit it, he was getting older. No one needed to know if he begrudgingly used it whenever the pain in his knee became too much to bear.

But Simon bought his. With his job, major injuries were more of an eventuality rather than possibility. Maybe he bought it after some injury that made it difficult for him to walk or stand for a while and just never took the thing out afterwards, or maybe he just bought it because he wanted it. But Simon is the definition of function over fashion. The sparse personal additions he made to his flat could most easily be described as utilitarian. Practicality trumps all in his mind, so if he wants to sit down while he takes a shower, he’s going sit down while he takes a damn shower.

[puppppppppy]

learning abt friendship decay and "not reaching out to your friends for months at a time unprompted is not neurotypical behaviour" has me feeling a certain way

[gasstationclown]

its like 1:30 am and i just finished this and im mad tired but if i dont post it now ill forget so HERE

and obligatory sun/moon variation

and even a timelapse of the process of me being bad at lighting in particular

likes, reblogs, comments, and follows are always appreciated greatly thank you much please enjooyyy

[mariocki]

Gareth Thomas returns - still running a car hire service, now inexplicably called Tom Lewis - in Public Eye: The Bankrupt (6.1, Thames, 1972)

[lonestardust]

carlos' eyes in the meeting room........ carlos' eyes at the hospital..... at the IC room..... his guts are boiling with hot rage!!! this very stubborn hope. it's in the clench of his jaw since the funeral. the lump in his throat that he swallows back every time because that's how the gut-wrenching vestige of murder that hasn't received its justice yet feels like."i see it now. the eyes.." because that's the glimpse of the resolute unswerving gabriel in him that echos 'if there are tears to weep we do it when the time comes, not before'. you grief but you don't get defeated when there is still work to do in order to rest in that grief. and GODDD carlos is so righteously resolved about getting there. i want him so so bad to solve the case. finally bring that retribution and avenge his family and himself. he's been in the waxing and waning throes for too long he only deserves the purgation and finality of it more than anything!!!!!

because no way all of this relentless endeavour and sharp stubborn wit would culminate to anything but cracking it. even storytelling wise that would be disheartening not to bring it to its desired ends. because imagine. all this time carlos was so right about the rangers from the start. then he looped in. was kept so close under their wing. and then he now realises that he wasn't really truly '''stuck''' but he was trapped and misled instead and it's all tumbling down now over their heads and he's seeing through the cracks. finally the darkness makes sense and he can move in action through the pinnacle and into the resolution!!!

[desertduality]

Worth mentioning that the hermits moved off of Season 9 pretty soon after Secret Life ended. Which means in Ad Astra that they’re staying for longer than they meant to, but they can’t leave without him; what if he finds his way back home on his own and no one is there?

[elusiiev]

OMORITOBER DAY 14: LIBRARY

i like to imagine spirit mari tossing down her favorite memories for omori to read while peeking around to see omori's reaction :3

i was thinkin of drawing her too, but honestly i wasnt very sure what pose to do and i was a bit tired !!

thanks to @/ntrogensolar for the omoritober prompt list!

extra rant in the tags ab why this isnt a full piece!

[trashcreatyre]

I think the main thing that pisses me off about like 90% of mephiles ships is that people will be like "how old is he??" Look that fanwiki says that he's ten and they RUN with it. Like they don't read further. I'm so convinced that most people don't even know the plot of 06 bc the shit I've seen people draw and write with the characters is just mind boggling.

[sunforgrace]

random intersection of thoughts on account of the fact i finally watched iwtv recently and subsequently the vampire armand appeared in my dreams and though this is by no means a 1:1 can i play in this space with you guys for a moment: i think if armand could bear witness to cas’ perfected craft of the 🥺 he would be sooo sick . armand after seeing cas win the divorce every time:

armand after watching cas form plans with the enemy while lying to dean about it and invisibly watching him turbo blast dean’s brother with the agonies tell dean to kneel and declare love for him as his new god and have dean yelling where’s the angel and refusing to leave actual purgatory without him two seasons later and fully believing he’s hallucinating visions of cas out of guilt grief and rewriting his OWN memory by himself because the reality that cas stayed behind is more painful then the illusion that he failed him - because he 🥺ed about it:

[cloudster-clown]

looked back at some of my fakemon designs. i prefer the 1st concept of missa's design

GOING TO REMAKE HIM ONCE AGAIN

[kaiserouo]

can i delete this game now

[dazzelmethat]

Here is another art trade with ichiijelly! This time with their entomologist oc Oliver.

I wonder if entomologists still use butterfly nets when on the field still.