#paying rent? no

[citrine-elephant]

hi hello ranting again uwu. spoilers for vendetta novel

personal friend made the mistake of engaging me with resi talk.

re6, how leon kept pointing out how tall oaks was an exact mirror of raccoon. so many parallels to what happened in '98. in the vendetta novel, he mentioned how tall oaks was an incredibly huge trauma. like he would rather not talk about it, as if mentioning the city's name would reopen that festering wound and just salt the fucking thing more and more and- (which, don't get me wrong, is perfectly accurate of ptsd and triggers)

how leon blamed himself for what happened to the president. how guilty he felt. how guilty he felt for raccoon, for tall oaks, for everything. like somehow his part was the direct source of the world's misery.

i'm just extremely fascinated by leon's tragic ass life. and i feel like he is an exact metaphor for trauma itself. his story is a broken record that keeps skipping on the same fucking note and can't move beyond where it's stuck. he's a prisoner to this hell, not to mention a literal one as his body belongs to the government.

like. fuck. my brain hurts i'm too hyperfixated right now. i am drowning in the NEED for more lore

[mias-back-from-the-dead]

tbh i think the funniest phenomena that's been happening in the last couple years is "youtuber, having gone too deep into the research hole, has been made an investigative journalist against their will"

[shotmrmiller]

single dad simon not knowing how to be a dad. not his thing. doesn't get it. hand him a gun and he can take it apart and put it back together in his sleep. but a diaper? formula? baby food??? knows next to nothing.

so you see him, miserable old man with sunken dark eyes, hunched shoulders and a screaming baby at his doorstep with groceries in his hand and decide to help. (besides, you're also suffering with a lack of proper sleep)

he's not a good dad but he's a protective one. he's at your throat in an instant, baby in arm almost behind his back, ready to sink his teeth into your jugular. you squeak out that you're a part time babysitter. you can help. you've got the most experience with babies her age.

you keep your eyes on him, tired eyes now sharp as flint. it's scary how quickly he'd moved. footsteps barely a whisper. his breath chills your skin.

threatens you with your life if so much as a hair on her head is hurt. he must be really tired if he's willing to accept help being this defensive.

you take the chunky babe and bounce her as he opens the door to his flat. you don't dislike kids but you're not their biggest fan either. babysitting is just a means to an end. easy money that goes toward your tuition.

simon, you come to learn, doesn't care. he thinks you're the missing parent. he doesn't ask you if you can help watch over the child. simply knocks on your door and hands her to you with the diaper bag. mutters that he'll be back and with food.

he helps himself to your couch when you tell him that the baby is asleep. takes off his shoes and is snoring in seconds. simon also doesn't help the rumors going around the building. "a terrible parent, you are. how could you abandon your baby and husband? he's been struggling for months!"

simon leaves you sputtering when he tells them to stop talking about his missus like that or he'll kill them in their sleep. burp the baby, pet, or she'll keep us up all night.

at least he pays well :/

(if you go out for a friends night, which he will drop you off so stop talking about uber, he's telling you to go say goodbye to our baby who happens to be asleep in her crib and if you're wearing a short little number he's gonna watch you bend over to kiss her fat little cheek before he takes you to the bathroom to eat it from the back and is sending you to his car with trembling legs and a slap to your arse. don't look so tasty next time idk)

[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.

[fruity-blogs]

Sometimes...

Taking a leap forward means...

Leaving a few things behind.

[wanologic]

The Mansons have Infinite Money

[t4t4t]

Hi !

I got bottom surgery on July 25th :3

I'm recovering well but I'll be on bedrest for a while. Collie and I will need rent help for September/food/gas/utilities/etc. Two disabled trans women. Anything helps ! Thank yall so much for all you've helped so far, it's saved my life ❤️

https://venmo.com/u/nora-esther-rose

https://www.paypal.me/NoraEstherRose

https://venmo.com/u/Leah-Esther-Rose

https://www.paypal.me/androgynophore

[nikiferous]

Handers brainrot

[wilsonmybeloved]

ive literally never interacted with the rats smp ever besides like once

but ren and martyn exist. and a lot of my other favorite creators. so we're going headfirst into rat yaoi. raoi, if you will. ratataoi?? ratatouille yaoi? ...ill work on it

[theghostkingisdead]

As a current college student I refuse to believe Danny as Ghost King doesn’t answer summons. As soon as people start summoning him he starts demanding home cooked meals and fat wads of unmarked cash.

That they started off summoning him with the blood of virgins was a bit distasteful, but once he told them to knock it off (threatened to take whatever harm they do to innocents out on their skin, tenfold) they seemed to get the message and started giving him offering of home decor and kitchen appliances instead.

All things being equal, they don’t even ask for much in return. For most of them, just the confirmation that he exists and is “���watching out“” for them is enough. Although lately he’s started giving his cultists random junk (a nice rock he found, a handful of marbles, a piece of scrap metal from his parents lab) and telling them they’re sacred artifacts of great power, as a joke.

[bloominflowers]

i like them a very normal amount 😳

[shripscapi]

Ygritte commission for @jaehaeryshater 🩵

[thestuffedalligator]

They just. Never explained Hooty’s deal, huh.

He’s the Owl and the House of the Owl House. He has a pair of Baba Yaga hut legs. He can detach himself and fit in a backpack. The series finale revealed that God has a Hooty in their eye. His first word was hoot. His second word was hoot hoot. I know nothing else about him.

[w4y2dawn]

Kingdom Hearts IV, Submit your Re:sume 💼💵

[janglyjusticeforall]

"edgeworth shouldnt have gotten 1st place" "edgeworth isnt even in the aj trilogy" who do u think pays rent for that office hm? u think phoenix had that damn whale paying retainer? u think that 16 year old girl was making rent between her algebra homework? be so fucking serious

[gawki]

IT'S SPRING!

My store is officially open again! All 62 new mushroom pins are up as well as 5 new prints. I'm still working on the bandanas, so those will be released next week. <3