#i wish i had someone to talk 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.

[nasa-parker]

i’m falling into an existential crisis!

[windwenn]

The transgenderification beam is back baby

[fluentisonus]

working in a factory has you thinking so much about the insane chain of labor & transport that goes into making literally anything

[asavt]

[ Reflection ] About yourself.

Was listening to Shunkan Sentimental by SCANDAL at like 10 p.m. and stayed up until 4 a.m. to work on this. I didn't finish it right away tho, I still had to sleep.

Two extras below read more!

[nonranghaes]

heads up: feelings of abandonment + reader crying. food mentions. fic can be interpreted as purely platonic, if desired!

when did your apartment start to feel so cold? you weren't sure. but you pull out a hoodie from your dryer and pull it on, just to try and chase away the chill that won't leave you. today's been a shit day, and all you want to do is curl up in bed and sleep until it's over. but it's far too early for that, so you opt to try to take care of yourself instead.

which really just turns into you pulling a blanket over you on the couch and watching whatever seems interesting enough to hold your attention for a while. it takes barely five minutes into the first movie before you start to sniffle again, and you stop fighting it. hot tears run down your cheeks, and you just pull the blanket tighter around you.

is it so much to ask that someone chase you for once? to have someone check on you and make sure you're actually okay? instead, you get radio silence when you pull away from people. it makes you feel sick to your stomach. there's a swirling storm inside you of the knowledge that people can't help you if you don't say something, and the wish that people would realize you not saying anything was a cry in its own right. they've known you this long, haven't they? they know you hate reaching out, that you despise having to say 'hi, i'm struggling' and instead it feels like they've just stopped bothering with you. why bother with someone who won't pull themself out of their struggles enough to say something?

it feels like you're drowning in these feelings. every hiccup and attempt to catch your breath just sends you spiraling further, the weight of the world crushing you more and more. is it so wrong to want someone to reach out and say "i know things aren't okay. can we talk?" or even a "i'm here for you, i'm sorry life is hard now, just say the word and i'll be there, okay?" in some shape or form. it doesn't even have to be so elaborate. it just needs to be something--

someone knocks on your door. you swear under your breath, wiping at your face and hoping that whoever is on the other side won't question it too much. your neighbor's cat probably got out again. you stop on your way to the door, looking in a mirror to see what damage has been done by this sobbing fit. and when you feel a little more composed, you open the door.

"hey." seungcheol has one hand tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie, the other holding a bag of takeout. "have you eaten yet?" he's dressed down, sweatpants and beanie and all. "i was in the neighborhood, and..."

he's lying. you know he is. you can see the label on the bag and this place is nowhere near where you live. but it's your favorite.

his gaze softens when he fully takes in the sight of you. "are you okay--"

he barely finishes the word before you dive forward, wrapping your arms around him as you bury your face in his hoodie. it makes you feel desperate in the worst way, but you're crying already and hiding your face from him makes you feel even a little better. but the feeling of seungcheol's arms wrapping around you feels even better, and he holds you protectively.

"i've got you," he says, and it feels like a promise.

maybe life isn't so bad after all.

[intramoon]

Your throat is raw from screaming to a God who isn't even listening.

Transcription [Lore]

I pray that my daughter doesn't look like me, doesn't resemble me. Oh, tell me then, tell you're going through it, don't bite my hand.

That she isn't cursed with my same bad omen. Oh, tell me then, tell me how your heart ripped open like that.

I have spent my whole life fighting the urge to end it. I don't wanna see you bled out in anguish.

My life would be aimless. How do you not pass that on?

[kazutora-kurokawa]

Masturfesting w/ Mikey

♡ NSFW, fem reader, masturbation + manifesting, delusion, established friendship, panty stealing, perv!Mikey, college au ♡

note: my beautiful moot @i-literally-cant-with-this gave me this little idea 🩷 I started at 2am and finished around 3, its 6:30 right now so yeah lol I need some rest

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You and Mikey had always been close growing up, and that didn't change one bit when you two got to college. Of course he was still out partying and fighting with his friends, those things, along with your presence, were the only things he kept consistent. But a lot of things changed, he started becoming more aware of himself, of his feelings towards you, and of his place in your life. He knew he wanted a relationship with you, but wasn't sure how to approach you. So he did what he thought was best and started doing some research.

He discovered a lot of romance coaches, wikiHow articles and unhelpful stuff like that, but then he struck what he thought was a gold mine. He discovered the spiritual side of love, specifically types of love potions and spells. He was never one to believe in magic but it couldn't hurt to try. The one that caught his eye? Masturfesting. It was so disgustingly delusional, it just had to work. And so, he started a routine. Everytime he was hard, he'd go on your social media pages, scroll through, and find a picture he could get off to. He'd start off slow, savoring the moment and imagining your pretty hands wrapped around his dick. He'd finish pretty quickly, staining his phone and the picture of you on the screen with gooey strings of cum.

This became a daily occurrence for him, but as of late he felt like it wasn't working. He needed to go further, to do something more…risky. So he walked to your dorm after class, under the false pretenses of having a study session. You two were in your room laying on a pile of pillows on the floor, flipping through textbooks, when suddenly you had to use the bathroom. You left the room, giving Mikey the chance to take his masturfesting to the next level. He rooted around in your dirty laundry, stealing a pair of your panties and pocketing them for himself. You came out of the bathroom and were none the wiser.

After the study session was over he went back to his dorm, rushing to the bathroom to make use of your panties. The soft material felt like heaven wrapped around him, and he couldn't help but imagine thrusting into your pretty pussy instead of his hand. The way they felt, the way they looked, the way they smelled, everything turned him on and made him even more determined to have you for himself. He fully believed that his disgusting actions would result in you unknowingly falling head over heels for him, and maybe it would…or maybe he's just delusional as all hell. Either way he's not gonna stop, not anytime soon, not until he's sure you'll want him as much as he wants you.

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Taglist

@arlerts-angel @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katkusuo @happy-trenchcoated-impala @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies

[1000sunnygo]

Ok so sometimes I see people claiming Oda originally planned for Law to be evil. Did he actually say that? I can't find much on it

This and "Law is Oda's wife's favorite character" ROFL

Videos like this might've been the culprit behind this rumor. Law being 'named after a brutal pirate and allegedly had terrible rumors about him', doesn't equate to "Law was meant to be evil." No matter how canon-coded it seems, something can't be called a "fact" unless there's a legitimate reference. So far, Oda has made no such statement about Law.

The video used a draft image to back the point that Law was depicted as "scheming and manipulative" during Punk Hazard, taken from OP magazine vol. 8:

Sanji's dialogue, roughly: "Your strategy is to go head on against Doflamingo and Kaido, and to weaken Kaido's military strength, isn't it? And we're *in it together* because we believe the outcome benefits us, as well.

What are you planning?

I don't mind going ahead (to Zou), but I won't leave my friends in danger."

Law: Sharp at bargaining, aren't you...

It's not from Punk Hazard, it was Dressrosa.

Not to mention in both draft and finalized versions, it was Sanji cornering Law, not the other way around. IMHO it didn't add or subtract much from law's character as we already know him.

It's very likely that Law was planned to be (more) morally grey and manipulative. But inflating it as Oda's statement makes it a misinformation. This fandom sadly has a lot of these, thanks to engagement farming content creators.

[lycandrophile]

i love helping other transmascs speedrun getting over their doubts and fears about going on t. there are two people in my personal life who have been contemplating going on t for a while, and both of them talked to me about it because i’m the resident Guy On T, and by the end of our conversations one of them was fully decided that they want to start t and the other had realized the thing that had been stopping them was actually probably not a real barrier at all. i’m making it my life’s mission to become the little trans devil on as many people’s shoulders as possible whispering “you should totally go on t i think you would really like it” in their ears. maybe the real transgender craze seducing our daughters was the friends we made along the way.

[lemongogo]

[bumblingbabooshka]

Patreon Request: Spock [Patreon | Ko-fi]

[abirddogmoment]

A lab joined our brittany party 💚💙💜

[rofax]

I took a piece of art from my journal like, 2 years ago, and re-did it digitally bc it has been feeling ESPECIALLY POIGNANT LATELY.

[5a-alf]

I fear Kevin Day is the type of person whose struggle always came second. He funcioned enough that while everyone knew he wasn't alright, it was also nobody's problem, as someone else was actively having a harder time and they took precedence. He internalises all his problems and keeps going and going but he is fueled by alchool and sheer desperation a 100% of the time. If he were to stop for even a second he wouldn't know how to start again.

Did he ever, at somepoint in his life -away from the ex foxes, a pro player, married to Thea- wish he had it worse, just so that maybe it would have been his turn being saved? Being first? How badly would he feel, just one second after thinking it, because he knows damn well he has enough trauma to fill a stadium and he isn't actually jealous of his friends that had it worse, he isn't . That's a fucked up thing to think, stop it, stop it.

Would he still drink himself into a stupor to shoote the ache, to banish the thought? That's the help he got, when he was at his worst, a drink, and then two, and then a thousand. And it worked, it made him go, it picked him up when he was down, and now he can't get down without crashing.

Did he wish to be saved? Did he hope somebody, anybody, took the time and put in the effort to help him, just because they saw him down, not because he begged, but because they noticed he could use a hand. Or two, actually. Was it torment, to always be under the spotlight, yet never been seen? Did he run toward fame hoping the more eyes on him meant it would be easier to be noticed?

[mueritos]

started a new job recently as a research assistant for a gay Latinx professor in my grad program, and while I definitely don't have the time to be doing my own research, working with this professor on his book projects has been so affirming and healing. i'm working on a book he hopes to publish soon that is full of interviews of gay and trans Latine men...and it is so fucking awesome. I feel so seen by the words I am reading, and I feel tears spring to my eyes looking at the photographs of these men. They look like family members, distant cousins, and family friends. They look so happy and full of confidence. I see myself in their eyes, recognizing the "fish" shape in our eyes that is so distinctly tied to Latines. One of the men in the book is a pup! And it is so beautiful seeing his smile as he holds his pup mask.

I have met very few queer latines. I don't know what it's like to have the tio or tia that has some secret aura to them, that "no se habla" vibes where everyone knows they're queer but just won't acknowledge it. Hell, this professor I'm working with is the first gay Latine man I've ever spoken to. I wish I had a community of gay Latines. I hope I am able to access that one day :)