#most of the time it was my mom

[skoulsons]

Joel strolled up to her door, setting his bag and rifle against the frame. Her door was ajar, just as she left it every night, as did he. In the case of emergencies, or nightmares, it’s how they lived. It made them feel safer knowing the other wasn’t behind a closed door.

He pushed it open, the hinges creaking at the motion. It wasn’t quite 6am when he was scheduled for patrol. Moonlight was still peaking through the pine trees, forming streaks of white light into Ellie’s room.

Ellie stirred at the creaking, but settled back comfortably on her right side. Joel tip toed to her bedside, his weight pulling the end of the mattress down as he sat by her feet.

“Mornin’, kiddo,” he whispered, setting a hand on her calf and lightly rubbing his thumb back and forth. “Headin’ out for patrol with Tommy. I’ll be back before dinner. We can cook something up together, yeah?”

Ellie gave a mumbled “mhm” into her pillow, barely registering that he was even there, let alone talking about anything she could understand through her sleep.

“Alright, it’s a plan,” he smiled, knowing she couldn’t see him. “Be safe today, kiddo. I’ll see you a bit later.”

He started to push off the bed as she mumbled something again, sleep coating any attempt at a coherent string of words. “Hmm?”

“Rub. Back.” She said it half into her pillow; it’s a miracle Joel could make anything out. Ellie adjusted herself from her side to laying flat on her stomach, giving Joel more access.

He chuckled to himself, pulling the blanket down to rub her back through her sleep shirt, which just so happened to be one of his dirt stained t-shirts.

She let out a number of content mumbles and incoherencies as he rubbed her back, eventually tracing her name letter by letter on her back over and over again.

“Alright, baby, I gotta go. I’ll be back later this evening.” He rubbed his hand over her back a few more times before pulling away and drawing the blanket back up to her shoulders. He pushed off the edge of the mattress to stand, stepping closer to her head. He leaned over, pressing his fist into the mattress on her other side to press a kiss to the crown of her head. He tucked a few hair strands away behind her ear, smiling to himself again. He’s home.

[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.

[cowardlykrow]

Stop light shenanigans

Extra:

[caruliaa]

staff still hasn't given me polls, what should i do?

🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪 their moms 69%

🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪🟪 their dads 31%

grace image os i get to look at her

[guzhufuren]

upcoming thai ql prayer circle 🤝🤝🤝

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

As per usual, it’s DP crossover with (probably) DC, although you could probably adjust it for other fandoms

ANYWAYS

A little kid and his mother are trick or treating in another city, perhaps at some kind of event rather than knocking on doors, and the kid is dressed as Phantom. It’s very adorable, with his little ghost-shaped bucket and clearly homemade and already stained costume—listen, white only works if you can just fly over street grime or phase it out of your clothes—and his slightly I’ll fitting wig. The kid is SO happy to be out and about dressed as his favorite, and maybe even showed it off to Phantom back in Amity Park before his family left.

The hero, insert whoever you wish here, is probably in civvies and just enjoying the event. The kid, meanwhile, is so glad when people ask who he is so he can explain, and so- the hero gets to hear ALL ABOUT the local town hero who is probably pretty small time despite the kid’s clearly exaggerated stories. The hero certainly never heard of him, but the kid’s mom confirms that Phantom really was the town hero, despite some mixed reviews of the poor guy.

“Did you manage to show him your costume?” the hero asks.

“Yeah! We went down to the cemetery to leave flowers and I got to show him my costume.”

Wait. Cemetery? Maybe it was part of theme, because Phantom had to be named that for a reason, but… it sounded like…

The kid ignores the suddenly VERY still hero and instead turns to his mom. “Momma, do you think we should bring him candy? He doesn’t get to trick or treat like we do, and I can work super hard to get him a bunch!”

The kid’s mom just smiles. “We could, but maybe we should bring him something homemade. I bet he’d like something more filling, teen boys like him have a hollow leg.”

The kid wrinkles his nose. “Like Vernie with the pizza bagels?”

“Like your cousin, yes. We can make some cinnamon rolls and take them to his memorial, maybe bring some of the apples from your grandpa’s garden…”

The hero is pretty much forgotten as the two-part family wanders off, not quite intentionally forgetting the hero is there so much as the hero somewhat accidentally ended the conversation when they just froze and didn’t ask anything further.

Not that the hero didn’t want to. But they’d learn something very serious.

One—there was a small town hero they’d never heard of. Two—that hero was apparently a teen. Third—most pressingly, the teen hero was both beloved enough to have kids dressing up as him and dead enough to have a grave.

This… might require some phone calls.

[bunnieswithknives]

I feel bad for neglecting Hazel so much, I do have many thoughts about her.. and also a mermaid au that im probably not going to do anything with

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Snap: *draws a Megaman-inspired Magneto*

Me: ...Perfect modernization.

wait now that its not 3AM i can do you one Slightly better

bonus:

[teaboot]

PROGRESS

[fictionadventurer]

Slumber party question! What's your earliest memory of encountering beauty? The first thing you can recall where you looked at something and were struck by how beautiful it was?

[miusato]

Lmao so I finally done drawing a lineup of P3 cast in my Highschool AU. Call them wokesona or something ahskskskskasosk

[zivazivc]

Does Hed help Les with grooming his back?

This is a really old ask about this post. And the answer is yes, definitely!

I ended up drawing them back in their room in Vibe City because I've been thinking a lot about them growing up there lately. This is a little before Les gets kicked out (big fight with dad) and they end up traveling around with Flea who is at uni at this point. (Flea isn't a local, he moved there because of uni a couple of years prior, and that's when Les and Hed met him. He is the only other mixed/non-fully funk troll they know at that point.)

In the drawing Hed is studying for a test. He's in the second year of high school when he drops out. This upsets and angers Les because he has good grades but Hed insists that they should form a band (like they used to talk about when younger) because he is secretly shit scared of letting Les live alone and fuck off to who knows where. - At this point in time Vibe City is pretty much grounded in the same location most of the time, and if Les doesn't have work, he likes to spend his time in the suburb/woods outside the city where he takes care of his beetle van, Scaab. And Hed is aware Les has been itching to leave the city for a while already...

This has been an unexpected mini lore dump, thank you for your time :P

[nostalgicfun]

"The Blue Room," 2008

[relaxxattack]

i bet you guys forgot i do art (i did too sorry)

sketch under the cut because i really liked it actually which is why this is a rare non lineless piece

[miaoqing]

i'm so glad we collectively agree that shen qingqiu takes care of binghe's hair because i would be so pissed otherwise. especially when you also hc binghe with curly hair... it must be so satisfying to put all the products in and do the little hairbrush curly thing and turn it into pretty little ringlets ugh sqq if you're not gonna do it MOVE THE FUCK OVER

[simplyghosting]

Mom, frazzled: -And I just don’t understand why they act like that!

Me: Mom. They’re just being silly. Some people are silly. You are just not silly and that’s okay.

Mom: It doesn’t make sense though! And I am silly!

Me, grabbing my mom by the shoulders: Mama, some people are like Larry the Cucumber with a big, funny hat and you are Archibald Asparagus showing up every Silly Song yelling “Stop being so silly!”

Mom: Nooooo, Archibald is silly, too😭😫💔