#the art class is a metaphor

[mumblesplash]

(teaching my art class)

me: and what’s the number one rule when designing characters with wings? …well?

a handful of students, sighing reluctantly: no good fa-

me (interrupting them): NO good-faith attempts at realism, EVER. you want all the bird dweebs and physicists jumping ship as EARLY AS POSSIBLE so they’re not around to cinemasins your ass when you get to the cool parts of your story, and…ugh, what now, gerald

gerald (my least favorite student): why not just do some minimal research instead of-

me: listen you little shit i can and will singlehandedly tank your 4.0 gpa

[eeriedragone]

omg not this guy again

[transsongtaewon]

Of course we know that there aren't many childhood pictures left of Yoohyun. But I think there weren't any in the first place of Yoojin.

Sure, when he was really young there was enough to fill a nice album, a cute baby and later chubby toddler adorning the walls, but they drop off when he is five. Nothing new joins what is there and eventually the pictures are taken down.

There are pictures of Yoohyun, many of them clumsily taken and out of focus, fingers poking in the frame of more than a few. Yoohyun looks happy in all of them, often posing somewhere but sometimes also caught unaware, doing his homework in the kitchen or unpacking a lunch box on a park bench.

How do you think their parents felt the first time they looked back through pictures from their beach vacation only to find Yoohyun, learning how to tie his shoes. Did they delete the pictures? How many times? Did they tire of it eventually? Of erasing their son's milestones, so they gave up and bought a new camera for their next vacation?

Of course it's not like there's no pictures of Yoojin. He's there in class pictures (few) and company get-togethers (many), and for special occasions there's even pictures of him and Yoohyun together, looking proud at Yoohyun's middle school graduation, still having to lean down so they're the same height. There's not many of these pictures - you can only ask a stranger to help take photos for so long - but at least they are some proof Yoojin exists as more than the eye that watches over Yoohyun.

[elevenveggiestraws]

“Take my right eye.”

“Excuse me?”

“Since I’ve already staked it once.”

…

“If you lose one of your eyes, won't your combat ability deteriorate? Why would you take such a loss because of me?"

"If I had to choose, I'd choose you, Han Yoojin-gun."

[jolteongirltja]

Don’t be quiet about this. Be mad. Be PISSED.

They want you scared to fight back.

They want us scared of each other so we can’t realize what they’re doing to us.

We are livestock to them and they’re foregoing the slaughterhouse in exchange for riling us up until we start maiming each other. They’ll wait for us to tear ourselves apart before picking the meat from our bones and the coin from our wallets like vultures. They tote the right to free speech around like a shield until we pick up our own and suddenly the concept of free speech is blasphemy. They want us dead but they want us to live long enough to be drained of our money, our labor, and our bodies. As long as a new generation is born for them to start taking from, we are worth keeping around. There’s no water, just poisons sweetened to the point of being detrimental. Either way, you die while they wait to reap the rewards of their “hard work”, all the while drinking water by the gallon. Spitting it into your face as they tell you, scream at you that there’s no water. “I’m a victim of the world too!” They’ll lie to you. They will lie to you time and time again as you can do nothing but feed them more power, sprawled out and fattened on the cheapest processed ingredients upon their dinner tables, carved open to make your innards easier to access.

There’s this habit I had as a kid. Nothing bad or hurtful. The kind of habit you’d reminisce about years later in a conversation with friends. It’ll draw out some chuckles at how bizarre it was, maybe even a few ‘I did that too’s. Simple kid stuff.

I’d pluck the heads off dandelions when they reached that stage where they closed up and the petals would be exchanged for the fluff. When they’d get like that, usually in mid to late summer, I’d think they were the softest thing. I’d pick them off their stems and brush them against my cheek as if painting on it. And sometimes I’d put them in my pockets or on my desk for later fidgeting. One time, I forgot to toss one. Left it sitting out on my desk for days until one day I looked over and there were seeds everywhere. Without realizing, the little bud had dried up over time and burst. It made a bit of a mess.

People’s suffering, their desperation, I think they’re a bit like those seeds. If left unattended for too long, left to fester, they eventually burst. And gosh, I think we’ve been on these people’s desk long enough.

[unholyverse]

i like happy songs that sound nice, even with their words like dog bites

[dawnthefluffyduck]

I think i doubt my ability to work faster under stress too much

[chillandnormalrambles]

don’t sink in me with your dog teeth

[miiilowo]

Your chalk pastel drawing looks really interesting! I find the yellow aura against the black background inticing to look at.

I was wondering if you would post a close-up? No worries if you don't. Best of luck with finishing it over the break.

here u go :3 I started the door and didn't finish it (including most the shading for it) but everything else that's done is pretty much finished aside from needing to be filled in/blended better

[martyryo]

I can't cook I lack ingredients and they cut off the gas

[yurigalactica]

Her Name

Beneath a blanket of laurel and viridian she lies, Tucked among the roots and ivy. The forest holds her in an embrace of thistles and thorns, Bones of ossified birch, knees sunk into dirt.

Her ghost likes to follow me around, A youthful skip in her gait. She is much more vibrant than I, Eyes azure and gleaming As she darts through the tree line and gleefully squeals "Last one there is a rotten egg."

It's not uncommon for people to see her in me, Or rather, her instead of me. Grown-ups often chuckle and sigh, sugar sweet smiles on their lips, And chitter amongst themselves about how oh-so precocious she is.

Will they ever see me?

She and I are one in the same, people tell me. We have the same smile, same hair, same face. She is all I have ever been and all I ever will be. Anything I think or say or do, no matter how original, She has done it first.

Her name is what people know me by.  It sticks to my skin like maple sap, Burrows itself deeper like a malignant little tick. While it once tasted like wildflowers and pine needles, Now, it is no more than a withered husk That tastes of ash on my tongue.

I do not hate her.

How can I?

She is pure and free and bright, A beam of sunlight born in the burning summer sky. My history is hers, and hers is mine, Identical spirals of cambium etched into the flesh of our arms. When I look into weathered polaroid photographs, Streaked yellow and pink from bygone years, I see her round, youthful face, Lips quirked upward and beaming at the camera.

Her smile is beautiful.

I hold her closely, I carry her on my back. Her arms are looped around my shoulders And her messy caramel curls fall over mine. She clings to me like a moth to a lamp, Sinks her ivory birch roots into my bones, Entwines herself with me. She is a part of me.

But I am not her.

I am alive and she is no more than a memory. Yet when the world speaks to me they call upon her name. When I do not answer, they do not understand why. When I drag them after me, through the woods and to her grave, And show them the brambles growing in her lungs And the sunflowers blooming in her throat, They tell me that she is merely sleeping. For how could a dead thing Bloom so bright?

So I hack off those beloved curls under the cover of the night And stain them the same color as the dawn. If I am ever to become more than the person who wears her face, I must bloom brighter than her corpse. If not an act of rebellion, then call it a desperate plea For someone to softly cup my cheek and, for once, see me.

I am not the little girl with the sunlit smile, But I once was, years ago. It is a fact that is as immutable as death, A law as eternal as life. And though I still carry her in my arms, I am older and wiser now And she will remain forever a child.

We are not the same person. Not anymore. And someday, I hope, the world will look upon us, See our fingers entwined like morning glory vines, And call upon not her,

But me.

[jackgoodfellow]

He's despicable, I'll take 12.

[Work-In-Progress]

Please feel free to drop your favorite toxic positivity slogans in the notes!

I want to write at least one such quote on this image. The top contender right now is "We all have the same 24 hours in a day!"

Also valid examples: "Nothing's impossible!", "Anyone can do it!", and "Pull yourself up by the bootstraps!" - or maybe just "Self-made :)"

---

Originally drawn in crayon at my local bar's game night because tabletop games are slow as fuck

[majormeilani]

why does everyone say that phrases like 'he hissed' or 'he growled' is just a fanfic thing when that's literally phasing used in plenty of literature 😭😭😭 where do y'all think the 'fanfic' people got that phrasing from

[affluent-havoc]

Made a silly little template i guess. can use for whatever. cus it's silly and monokuma is presenting some important information, guys! also, since i made the template, i will go first with it's usage

[tothechaos]

i get to go to my first conference in october OwO its for museums and museum studies! ill be making a poster and (potentially? hopefully!) giving a presentation!!

[nautical-poe]

Last comic for this semester! But I’m planning on making more over summer so stay tuned!!