#<— only if u want

[bishy437]

he won

bonus:

[rystiel]

i keep seeing people say the doctor shouldn’t have feelings for rogue because he’s married to river…? river song… who has also married multiple people… one of the most polyamorous characters in the show…?

[ciderjacks]

An old friend

[barghest-land]

drawings from paleo expedition to dagestan, done right on the trip. sometimes messy when it was cold and rainy, but i won't correct it. i think it's cool to leave it just the way it was done, and not retouch it after. there will be more drawings later, but those will be done from 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.

[hinamie]

"I'll show you every day that choosing to live was worth it"

some of my favourite scenes from @hijinks-n-lowjinks' fic things i would miss from the other side . this fic tore my heart out fr but like in a good way and i wanted to pay it homage the only way i know how <3

[stuckinapril]

friend wanted to see my tumblr, and when i told him i can’t show it to him bc it’s basically my personal diary he went “oh so I can’t see it but a bunch of strangers on tumblr can??” he literally does not get me. no one will get me like the people in my phone get me

[k-atsukibakugou]

“how many guys do you have on your roster, huh?”

“including you? four.”

“i’m gonna have you cummin’ on my cock, screamin’ my name and we’ll see if you still want those guys after the fourth time.”

[tzarrz]

i listen to fog lake too much

[zorosdimples]

when he knows you’ve been repressing your emotions for weeks, so he fucks you until you’re an inconsolable, sobbing mess. he wraps himself around you and rasps in your ear, telling you to let it all out, sweetness. take everything out on me.

[suntails]

GAME START

[girlboyburger]

i heard you folks might like fluttershy? 🦋

[nekoning]

final part - huafenglian turns xi4nle and everyone is gay in a kinda lame way / parts 1 & 2

ID courtesy by @imber-florum

[Image description: A grayscale comic featuring Feng Xin, Hua Cheng, Xie Lian, and Mu Qing. As a note, all caps text in the comic has been adjusted to regular capitalization in this description to aid readability for screen readers.

Feng Xin is fiddling with a torn dummy from fighting practice. San Lang scoffs and says, "You're pretty miserable, huh?"

"Yeah, this dummy tore apart too soon..." Feng Xin says, focused and not looking at him.

"...Not what I meant." At Feng Xin's confused glance, San Lang says, "You have no choice but to share with someone you hate."

"I don't hate you though."

"Oh, and you expect me to believe that?"

Feng Xin turns back to the dummy. "I thought you were going to hurt Dianxia so I wanted you away from him, but he's safe and happy with you, so it's fine now."

San Lang's eye twitches. "...You really are simple-minded."

"Fuck you!" Feng Xin shouts. "Tch, and you think too much. Just like Mu Qing." Hua Cheng abruptly shifts to his Crimson Rain Sought Flower form, his hair raised and shadows looming ominously around him. He barely restrains himself from punching an oblivious Feng Xin by thinking of Xie Lian's happiness at him and Feng Xin getting along better.

"Speaking of that one," Hua Cheng says, "What is he up to?" The comic shows Xie Lian approaching Mu Qing, who blushes.

"Uh, I think Dianx— ...A-Lian wanted to plant cherry trees," says Feng Xin. His words are paired with an image of Mu Qing looking downward, still blushing and perhaps saying something. Feng Xin continues, "And he offered to help, because 'he didn't trust him to do it right' and all that." These words are paired with an image of Mu Qing's eye glancing to the side.

The next frame shows Mu Qing in simpler clothes diligently sowing, planting, and watering seeds. One of Hua Cheng's butterflies flits around him, spying on him.

One day, Hua Cheng comes to spy on Mu Qing in person from behind a bush. 'Does he really have to come every single day?!?' he thinks.

It is on this day that the cherry tree seedling sprouts. Mu Qing smiles happily. At the sight, Hua Cheng leaps from the bush, shouting, "What the—?! Who is that?!?!"

"It hasn't changed!!!!" shout Xie Lian and Feng Xin, who leap up at the same time from the bush next to him. The three of them turn to each other, flustered, and Mu Qing jumps and hisses at them, a furious blush on his cheeks. Hua Cheng and Xie Lian look back to him with bemused frowns while Feng Xin sweats in fear of Mu Qing's rage. End image description.]

[hejee]

i really just wanna draw them shirtless

[inkskinned]

sure i find you in my hair and under my pillow and in the car. but i know in my heart you are picking me out of your teeth. i know i am burning through your sundays, sticking to your ceiling.

i hope i'm in every bitter cup of coffee and every candle wick and every bath. i hope my shadow flickers under your door so the empty hallway i have left behind is a swift dart of nothing more. i hope you find me in notebooks and stop signs and fleetwood mac - like i am marginalia on your life, i want my fingerprints burned into your days like acid.

i loved you, and you know i loved you, and for the rest of your life i will be the person you broke. for the rest of your life i hope the shame of that runs like a cattle dog, bites at your heels. i hope every time your cup is full or the moon is a toenail or a cat is purring or a laugh is in your belly or the sky turns pink while the sun is setting - i hope you remember that someone loved you, and you crushed them in your palms. you extinguished every future i lit. i hope that haunts you.

i hope you never fucking forget it.

[hinamie]

bunch of portraits