#i was really lucky

[sparklywaistcoat]

Click the link for an interactive tool for creating a safety plan for leaving an abusive relationship. Below there's more information about leaving as well.

Although the tool itself is a good one, please use it with caution if you are in an abusive relationship. Abuse often escalates if the abuser finds out that you're thinking about leaving.

Don't leave printouts where your abuser can find them.

Use a device your abuser doesn't have access to, or else be sure your abuser can't open your computer or phone or tablet and clear your browsing history when you're done using this.

Commit what you need to to memory if you can't write it down safely.

I cannot stress enough how important it is never to give your significant other access to your phone or computer if you can at all help it.

You're not proving that you're trustworthy or that you love them by giving them access; you're giving them an opening to violate your privacy and, if they're abusive, a way to further control you.

(Pro tip: If your partner is demanding access to your phone and computer, that's a major red flag. Run.)

I also cannot stress enough that you should keep a bank account in your own name.

If you don't already have an account like this, please open one ASAP if you can do so safely. Joint accounts are fine and dandy, but you also need to be able to control your own money in case you have to get out.

(Pro tip: If your partner demands that you pool all your money into a joint account and gets mad if you want to open or keep your own separate account, that's a major red flag. Run.)

Things that I did when I was preparing to leave my relationship included:

secretly opening a post office box so that my abuser no longer had access to my mail

secretly ordering vital records for myself and my children and sending them to the PO box (birth certificates, marriage certificate)

secretly opening a safe deposit box at the bank for documents and other items I didn't want my abuser to have access to or to know about, especially once I hired an attorney to start divorce proceedings

secretly opening a storage unit where I kept suitcases with clothes for myself and my kids in case we had to leave suddenly (fortunately this never happened)

while I was still living with my abuser, only having phone conversations with my attorney and other necessary professionals when I was out of the house and in a place where I couldn't be overheard, and telling my attorney to never call me without an appointment

secretly opening an email account that my abuser didn't have the address to and using that for all my divorce correspondence and planning

when my abuser was out of the house, making copies of family financial records that my abuser had in his possession, and then hiding the copies where I was reasonably sure he wouldn't find them. (Do this if you are married or otherwise have joint assets because having those records makes it harder for your spouse/partner to hide assets or prevent you from getting your share. Also do spy shit like making sure you put everything back exactly as you found it. Be very, very careful if you choose to do this step, because if your abuser finds out it can escalate the situation. I was lucky that my ex wasn't particularly nosy, not least because he didn't think I had it in me to do that kind of thing. Your abuser may be different.)

keeping the non-emergency number for the police department and the contact info and addresses for battered women's shelters in my phone contacts

I was lucky that I had the money to be able to do things like open a PO box and rent a storage unit. If you can't afford these kinds of things, find a trusted friend or family member that you can send your mail to and store documents and other things with. Make sure that this is a friend or family member who agrees that you are in an abusive relationship; you don't want to enlist a flying monkey by mistake if you can help it.

Please, please, please be canny with this, and be safe.

[emidy]

Dan Heng!!!!!

[bumblingbabooshka]

Vulcan teen on Vulcan [tiktok] saying "I have just lost track of my father in the grocery store." The camera turns to show the viewers the grocery store in which almost every single older middle-aged man has a bowlcut and long robes. Camera turns back to show the teen's face which is expressionless and yet communicates all it needs to.

[demaparbat-hp]

He truly did.

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

Yeah, I don't know about you, Fidds, but I'd fold at this 🙏

Previous!!

Next!!

First!!

[curioscurio]

I'm rewatching Steven Universe and I will never forgive Fandom for what it did to her

[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.

[lazylittledragon]

ok someone please correct me if i'm wrong but am i weird for thinking those 'audiobooks don't count as reading' posts are ableist as fuck????

[haridraws]

what if a puff sleeve renaissance doublet, but it’s also a puffer jacket

[linipik]

Keith with traditional style tats🔥

[8pxl]

7 yrs ago it was all a dream, but this yr marks my 5th year of being a pixel artist who supports themselves 100% thru art. kinda crazy to see my dreams to fruition!

[chocostrwberry]

One lucky girl 🐞

Something to celebrate the master post!!

And for everyone’s support bc WOW?? I get so many nice asks about my art and it really helps me get through my day,, and I wouldn’t even be making a master post if it wasn’t for everyone’s interest in my au. It really motivates me and I hope that I can continue to share my ideas with y’all!! THANK YOU EVERYONE!! 🌈🥹🎉🩷🫶🫶

[sharkylad]

Thinking about the fact that Mabel and Dipper didn't know they had two great uncles.

Yeah they are 12 and at 12 I had a shotty understanding of my family tree- But really? Nobody brought up their great uncle? Stanley? Especially since they'll be staying with his twin brother, Stanford?

Shermie never went to Stan's fake funeral, which to me means the twos relationship was strained on some level. If Shermie is older that means his view of Stan was poisoned in some way, that even as kids they weren't close. If the Shermie is younger then he never even got to meet Stan and all he knew about him was how he failed his family. Hell, people probably barely mentioned Stanley TO Shermie.

The fact that Stan had become a black stain upon the Pines family name makes me so vividly upset. Stanley faked his death and the family just- seemingly decided to strike him from the record. To pretend he didn't existed to spare themselves the sadness and shame.

Stanford and Shermie Pines. The only children worth mentioning of Filbrick and Caryn Pines.

It was never Stanford that was lost to the world. It was Stanley, ever since he had to leave New Jersy- it was always him that had to be struck from the record. Change his name, change his state, change his affiliations, destroy the remains of ghost that was Stanley Pines. Kill him so the family doesn't bring him up, doesn't ask questions, stops asking "Stanford" about his twin.

I just keep thinking about the fact that since the day he made one single mistake all the way up until Ford walks out of that machine- Stanley Pines was killed and did not exist. And Stan himself had no one to blame, he had to play the part in his own demise- He is the only one who ever knew Stanley was alive and has been for decades.

He lives in the multitudes of every personality he's ever taken, all in the hope that he himself can stop being Stanley Pines.

[kaiserouo]

"We're not going THAT far, Guardian."

[bixels]

Why the hell, shit, you damned bastard son of a bitch

[shmaroace]

don't get me wrong, i love all the positivity around being aro, like "be proud of being aro!! love who you are!!", but we never talk about how hard it is to reach that spot. so here's to the aros who are still trying to understand themselves, who aren't proud of who they are yet, who are still coming to terms with their new identity.