#like this has been a week for me.

[mmm-asbestos]

maybe days shouldn’t be this long

[fox-mulder-gets-pegged]

I just wanna say bc I KNOW you're somewhere on tumblr, to the teenage girl who attended Take Your Kid To Work Day at an office building in Ontario, Canada circa 2013 and had a conversation with a middle aged woman in which you showed her your Black Veil Brides fanart and fanfics and ship content and told her about different fanfic tropes including a/b/o verse bc she happened to know who Panic! at The Disco and Fallout Boy were and thus you felt the need to show her your bandblr ship art, that was my fucking mother and I had to clarify all that to her including looking my mother in the eye and trying to explain a/b/o verse without sounding like a lunatic.

It's been 10 years and I still regularly sent evil energies in your direction. Since you'd be probably two years younger than me and thus legally an adult now, please know if this post reaches you it's on sight.

[boltlightning]

in every workplace there should be a secret button you can press and if everyone presses it the workweek immediately ends and you can go outside and play instead of sending email

[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.

[solardrake]

Delivering mail to the furthest corners of the server ✉✈

[sadquickchristmassnowman]

“I can tell TV from real life, Jeff. TV has structure, logic, rules, and likeable leading men. In real life, we have this. We have you” is still one of the most METAL fucking lines in the entire series like??? abed just gagged him like that??? in front of EVERYONE??? insane. I’m still not over it. goddamn

[slavhew]

charmed, i'm sure

[booasaur]

Renegade Nell (2024) - 1x06

[waveoftheocean]

"i can see it in his eyes" 🥰

[madootles]

consumed with the urge to draw with ed holding cat. that's all

edit: metal arm wrong side bc canvas flip

[blueskittlesart]

My illustration final this semester, based on an excerpt from Neil Gaiman's Troll Bridge!

b&w pages under the cut bc i like them :)

[ruporas]

invisible scars (referenced previous talk here)

[ID: A colourless, digital Trigun comic of Vash and Wolfwood talking about Wolfwood's scars. They're both laying in bed and topless. Vash lays on top of Wolfwood, playing with the rosary around his neck. Then, Vash kisses a spot on Wolfwood's chest. Wolfwood asks, "What are you doing?" Vash smiles sadly, "You got shot here. In the last town we visited. You didn't even bother moving."

Vash props himself up over Wolfwood, who frowns slightly. Wolfwood is quiet for a moment before he says, "You remember that, huh?" Vash grabs Wolfwood's left wrist and brings it to his face. "And here." He kisses another spot there. "When you helped free the hostages from that robber..." Wolfwood dismissively says, looking away, "Was a lucky shot." Vash huffs, “Don’t brag. Jeez.”

Half of Wolfwood's expression is shown, eyes returning to Vash who is now sitting up, continuing to say, "And..." Vash goes on and kiss Wolfwood's right palm. "You got cut here, even though that girl was aiming at me." A moment from the past flashes, of Wolfwood grabbing a knife aimed at Vash, his hand bleeding.

At present, Vash moves down and puts another kiss on Wolfwood's right shoulder. "And here, from watching my back." Another memory flashes of Wolfwood and Vash back to back. Vash looks back as Wolfwood grins while holding Punisher, bleeding from multiple gunshots in his shoulder.

"And," Vash combs up Wolfwood's hair to reveal his forehead, "Here." A final memory shows Wolfwood with a regeneration vial in his mouth while getting shot on his temple. The next panel is framed in blood with Vash at the center, eyes wide and stunned in horror. The next panel is a closed up shot of Wolfwood's eye, locked on Vash's face.

Back to present, Vash’s head is bowed down as Wolfwood raises a hand to his nape and says, “Spikey.”

Wolfwood looks serious and frowns as he says, "We talked about this. Those were my decisions. They're not there anymore. Forget about them." Vash looks very sad before he smiles ruefully and says, "I still see them. All the time." He leans down so they touch foreheads. Wolfwood’s sorrowful expression can be seen as Vash says, "You protect so much. I could never forget what you've done to me. And many others..."

In the last image, they're drawn more cartoonishly. Wolfwood sweats and asks, "You don't actually remember every wound, right?" Vash points at a spot on his chest. "Kuroneko left a scratch here 7 times." Wolfwood, startled, says, "Why the hell are you keeping count—" End ID]

Credits for ID here and here

[justalittleficsideblog]

Can I touch your wings..?

Asking to touch / see their wings with Mammon, Lucifer, and Diavolo! i feel like these would be kinda sensitive but not rlly?

Lucifer

you had both been working in his office, you were simply trying to work through your homework without the brothers interfering (as they usually did). Your most recent subject involved the anatomy and biology of demons.

reading through the various lists of wings and their differences, you realized Lucifer's wings were a bit odd compared to the others in the textbook. most were bat or insect-like. Glancing up, you spoke.

"Hey... Lucifer, could I see your wings a minute?"

eyes immediately lifting to meet yours he grunts

"and why.. pray tell?"

fumbling over yourself you flip your textbook over to show him what you were studying. "Yours don't look anything like these! I just wanted to get a better view of them. Pleaseee, it's for my assignment."

rolling his eyes, he stood from his chair and dropped his jacket onto his desk, back facing you. in a blink, they appeared, black feathers swooshing around you.

they were enormous, gorgeous even, the pure slate colored feather tips gently drifting across the floor. you had assumed he had gorgeous angel wings, and that they looked similar to what was in front of you. which made you wonder...

reaching a hand out, your fingertips brushed the spot the wings met his back. before you knew it, he whirled in front of you, grabbing your wrist that was touching his wings.

you staggered back at his reaction, trying to pull free from his grip.

"Don't" he released you as you fell back into the chair, gaping up at him.

"luci... they're incredible! I- I didn't know they were so sensitive, my bad."

he left you to your studies, but you were completely breathless... wanting to touch them in full again.

meanwhile, as lucifer struck out of his office, his heart was erratic in his chest. the feeling of your hands gently stroking his feathers caused him to bristle, no one had ever dare to touch his wings before you...

Mammon

 Somehow you and Mammon had ended up binge watching nature documentaries as he made an offhand comment about not knowing much about humans and their animals.

So, you had picked one about flying animals and now, the narrator was explaining the different types of wings and how each fits the species and their needs perfectly.

Eyeing the male next to you, you thought about his own wings.

“hey… Mammon?” you murmured, causing his head to turn towards you as he raised an eyebrow in question. “I mean… can you show me your wings? I kinda want to compare them to what I’ve seen in the human realm.”

He shuffles awkwardly between himself, turning his head away, “the hell would’ja wanna do that for? You’ve seen them plenty.” You huffed at his reply and grabbed his shoulders, turning his face towards you. Blinking up at him, you gave your best puppy dog eyes.

He squirmed away from you, “uGH, fine! Just… turn around!”

Happily scooching back, you felt a slight breeze as his wings popped out. Glancing at them, you stared in awe as you came closer, looking over the white, bony structure connected by a thin, black membrane that seemed almost translucent the more you looked at it.

You reached out a hand, fingertips brushing along the sharp edges. You felt Mammon shiver beneath your touch, his face becoming flushed as your gentle touch. Were they sensitive? You thought, bringing your hand to wrap around where it connected into his back.

He jolted, wings disappearing as he spun around to face you, sweat starting to slick his brow as he brought up his wrist to cover his mouth. “Alright! That’s enough, you can’t just poke and prod wherever ya please!”

You laughed, short and soft as he became more and more uncomfortable beneath your gaze. Settling back down to the couch, you continued on with the show.

Unbeknownst to you, Mammon was on fire, the spot where his wings met his back was on fire from your touch. He hadn’t realized how sensitive to your touch he was… but he couldn’t say he was complaining.

Diavolo

You had been playing some games with the lord of devildom, entertaining him with games, books, and more about different folklore and fantasy that humans were interested in. He was particularly interested in one of the mini board characters, a dragon to be specific.

“Indeed, it does look rather defiant, does it not?” he asked you. Nodding in reply, you grabbed the mini figurine from him and turned it around to study it. you took particular notice of it’s wings, the hook looking incredibly similar to the ones on someone’s wings…

“Hey, Diavolo? Could I see your wings for a minute?”

Eyes widening, he tilted his head at your request, looking at how you were contemplating the tiny statue in front of you. Did you mean to compare his wings to this…. Tiny clay thing? He smiled and the next thing you knew, Diavolo was in his demon form.

He turned around and rolled his shoulders back, stretching his wingspan to it’s full length. Your mouth dropped open. Fanned out in front of you, were the largest wings you had ever seen. The muscles and membrane that stretched between the structures of all four wings were nothing but impressive. You looked at the changing colors between the membrane, noticing tiny glistening cells that made up the brunt of it.

“Holy shit…” you murmured. To be honest, his wings very well could have been the inspiration of dragons. They looked incredibly strong… you reached out a hand instinctively to touch the …horn? On the top of his wing.

Diavolo laughed at your expression of awe and desire to touch his wings. No one had ever been bold enough to try and touch them, even Barbatos knew better than to brush past them. But you… were so delicate and curious about them. He assumed you thought they were the stuff of legends.

“Are they to your liking?” he flapped his wings, causing a gust of wind to overtake you. Blinking up at him you responded, “They are… something out of a fairytale, Dia. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so…” you were at a loss for words, extending your hand towards the middle of his back, your fingertips brushing along his wingspan.

In a blink, he was towering over you, his wings cocooning you closer to him as you braced your hands against his chest.

“Oh! I- uh… I’m sorry,” you squirmed, backing into his wings. He laughed, transforming back to his casual clothes from before in a blink. He enjoyed teasing you, but you couldn’t ignore the glint in his eyes the way he turned towards you after you touched his skin.

“Well… shall we continue where we left off?” Diavolo gestured to the games laid out in front of him. You nodded, a bit spaced out by the whole ordeal.

“Dia, I have to admit, your wings are magnificent.” Glancing down back towards your book, you laughed as you plunged back onto the couch.

Unaware of his gaze, Diavolo felt an immense pride at the idea of you admiring him. He didn’t consider himself insecure by any means, but he felt his chest flutter at your words… and your touch, he felt his blood scream when you had touched them.

“Well you know… you can see my wings anytime you like.”

[inkskinned]

love when men cry about body hair bc "it's hygiene" and yet 15% of cis men leave the bathroom without washing their hands at all and an additional 35% only just wet their hands without using soap. that is nearly half of all men. that means statistically you have probably shaken hands with or been in direct contact with one of these people.

love when men say that women "only want money" when it turns out that even in equal-earning homes, women are actually adding caregiver burdens and housework from previous years, whereas men have been expanding leisure time and hobbies. in equal-earning households, men spend an average of 3.5 hours extra in leisure time per week, which is 182 hours per year - a little over a week of paid vacation time that the other partner does not receive. kinda sounds like he wants her money.

love that men have decided women are frail and weak and annoying when we scream in surprise but it turns out it's actually women who are more reliable in an emergency because men need to be convinced to actually take action and respond to the threat. like, actually, for-real: men experience such a strong sense of pride about their pre-supposed abilities that it gets them and their families killed. they are so used to dismissing women that it literally kills them.

love it. told my father this and he said there's lies, damned lies, and statistics. a year ago i tried to get him to evacuate the house during a flash flood. he ignored me and got injured. he has told me, laughing, that he never washes his hands. he has said in the last week that women are just happier when we're cooking or cleaning.

maybe i'm overly nostalgic. but it didn't used to feel so fucking bleak. it used to feel like at least a little shameful to consider women to be sheep. it just feels like the earth is round and we are still having conversations about it being flat - except these conversations are about the most obvious forms of patriarchy. like, we know about this stuff. we've known since well before the 50's.

recently andrew tate tried to justify cheating on his partner as being the "male prerogative." i don't know what the prerogative for the rest of us would be. just sitting at home, watching the slow erosion of our humanity.

[wulfhalls]

even newer kitkat pics <33

[obsob]

sending emails but sniffling and whimpering after typing each word