#someone pay me

[holy-watercolors]

Saw the plushie and immediately needed to draw this LOL

[bittersweetresilience]

i've started another amv. stay tuned. for how long? don't ask me

[dear-gods-wtf]

In search for a fucking job

Disadvantage: I don’t drive, I don’t have a car, I can work everyday but Monday and Wednesday bc I got college

Advantage: I speak Portuguese and English and understand Spanish. I’m young.

[fridayvelvet]

ten first lines

Rules: Share the first line of ten of your most recent fanfics and then tag ten people. Don't have ten? Not to worry, just share what you have.

tagged by @tiffanylamps 💕💕

posting my most recent fics according to ao3 so one weak hero, one d.p and the rest are beyond evil

1.) Sieun wanders into the hospital in a daze the pain in his cast covered arm registering dully in the back of his mind, he powers through it, marching directly to the closest nursing station and asks as politely as possible where Suho's room is located. (Comfort.)

2.) “Beautiful.” One of the last words Joowon will ever hear comes from Lee Dongsik whispered to him as he's trapped in the older man's embrace. (Beautiful.)

3.) "You're fired." (On the Snow.)

4.) Ramen. (Impurities.)

5.) Dongsik is shivering. (Team Building.)

6.) A figure has been following him for months now. (Make it through the night.)

7.) Auspicious signs and moon patterns had never been a concern for Joowon. (Like a wolf to the moon.)

8.) “He’s coming, he’s coming!” Minjeong exclaims in an failed attempt of a whisper, arm roughly hooked around the back of Jihoon’s neck dragging him downward to her height. (Steven Yeun but make it Lee Dongsik.)

9.) It was only a matter of time until he was caught alone by Jangsoo. (4 times Hoyeol protected Junho + 1 time Junho protected him.)

10.) Dongsik kissed him yesterday. (Could I be more obvious?)

anyone who wants to do this feel free!

[sweetsweetemo]

they need to invent a tomboy who is also a regular boy. just a tomboy boy. like a skater but gayer

[gilmore-angel]

being a brunette is a full time job istg

[shiro-tora3]

I got a pen tablet for the computer and im so excited to draw shit its kinda hard so itll take practice but ill get on to it! Im not a great artist but as someone with adhd and bpd getting the willpower to scrounge all my art supplies together and Set Up and Art is monumentally hard so.

Being able to just. Plug it in and open a program and Art is amazing it truly is.

Next stop? COMMISSIONS! MONEY! NOT BEING POOR!

[frankensteinmutual]

Signalis (2022) [H.P. Lovecraft, The Festival] /Sagittarius A* / Kathy Acker, Pussy, King of the Pirates / Outer Wilds (2020) / Is There a God-Shaped Hole at the Heart of Mathematics? / Drain for overflowing water at Sambuco Dam, Lavizzara Valley / ? / Thomasin Frances, Hole Theory (15/10/2022) / Bryan’s Ground, a public garden in Herefordshire on the Welsh border. / odd, weird, strange and unusual / Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves / Evil (2019-2014) / Judas H., Overflowing With Empty / Illustration of the Annular Eclipse of 1836 from “A fourteen weeks course in descriptive astronomy”, Joel Dorman Steele (1836-1886) / @imdad_barbhuyan on Instagram / The moon’s Copernicus crater. Through magic glasses. 1890. / Kaveh Akbar / Dune (2021) / x / Dmitry Kochanovich, Epiphany (Russian,b. 1972) / The Silt Verses, Chapter 41: But As My Last Breath Splits My Throat / Yousif M. Qasmiyeh, The Camp is a Bait for Time / Darina Muravjeva, Hole / Hilde Heynen in Heterotopia and the City / x / Leonard Cohen, Beautiful Losers / x /  Louise Glück, from Descending Figure / Anne Carson, Eros the Bittersweet: An Essay. / Caitlyn Siehl, What We Buried; from “A Letter To Love” / Lara de Moor, Orb (2014) / Sam Sax, Pig / The National - Wake Up Your Saints / Aleksander Rostov / Sanna Wani, from “Princess Mononoke (1997)”, My Grief, the Sun / Gregory Orr, [i want to go back] / Thomas Ott / ? / Judas H., Overflowing With Empty / James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room / Massive sinkhole swallows house in Florida / Edna St Vincent Millay, in Letters (1952) /Silent Hill 4 (2004) / @/vren-diagram / Anne Boyer, What Resembles the Grave But Isn’t / Law of Holes / Scarlet Hollow (2021) / China Miéville, from Railsea

(part one)

[zentriii]

i juggle wips like i'm getting paid for it

[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.

[puppyeared]

horrible truth bomb dropped on my head 20 min ago

[lovealwayssay]

I would pay an ungodly amount of money for a Supernatural finale where Dean rescues Cas from the Empty and tells him he loves him too, Eileen comes back to be with Sam, and Jack chooses to live with the four of them in the bunker as a happy family.

[locus]

[forgondor]

i actually love writing subtitles. I could spend my whole day subtitling shit. If you want something subtitled send it my way befcause fuck i will happily do it

[spitcrank]

four naps by noon HAS to be a world record

[bladeweave]

what's my favorite little detail about wyll ravengard? i'm glad you asked

he keeps this big stand-up abacus at camp. its much nicer than the ones they have at the counting house.

when you bunk down at the elfsong tavern, he has another, smaller abacus that he brings with him!

he's got an analytical mind; he's a tactician. does he do complex calculations to pass the time? does he run through sums to wind down after a hard day? i don't know! but it's fun to think about!