#wish i had talent

[gydima]

I wish I could draw. I would draw Izzy, standing at the front of the line for "Blackbeard's Wild Adventure," which is, like, riding Edward like a mechanical bull or something. Izzy's crying because there's a "must be this tall to ride" sign and he's an inch too short. In the background, Stede looks like he's having the time of his life riding Ed for all he's worth.

[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.

[radioducky]

@yezoki after reading the current chapter 8 of ‘The Things We Become in the Aftermath of Rage’ I just had to doodle this particular scene. Alastor is such a drama queen, I absolutely love your work! 🙏

Check out the (still ongoing) fic here!

[catastrxblues]

EVERMORE by taylor swift (feat. bon iver) — “and i was catching my breath, floors of a cabin creaking under my step. and i couldn’t be sure, i had a feeling so peculiar, this pain wouldn’t be forevermore.”

my #swiftiegiftexchange2024 for @lovesickallovermybed!!!! 🫶🏽🫶🏽

[demobatman]

this ones dedicated to THE OG ella @elekinetic happy belated birthday im obsessed with you heres max in the running up that hill mv 💗💖💞💓💞💖💝💗💕💓💗💞💞💗💖💓💝

[giulliadella]

Breakfast with dads!

[13eyond13]

love it when a character that's hard to read intuitively for you has like a dedicated fandom interpreter who can just glance at their blank face in a panel and then give you a 3k word essay on their innermost thoughts & desires & fears and neatly tie it back into the themes & whatnot as if it's the most obvious thing in the world

[littleprettykitten]

I have the biggest size kink and Jason Todd obviously makes my mouth water. I love imagining him manhandling me , calling me his pretty kitten and easily adjusting me the way he wants..

However , good heavens, if Jason let me, barely 5 ft person who doesn't even weigh 110 lbs, top him ; the power would corrupt me.

[fickle-tiction]

also have we considered

Clark intentionally trying to rile Bruce up, as is his right as goblin bf, and Bruce trying to ignore him. The childishness is contagious though and Bruce murmers "bite me" and Clark is too happy to comply, nibbling on his neck and driving him nuts. Bruce trying his damndest not to laugh, because he's a stubborn dork. Clark Wraps an arm around his waist so he can't go anywhere. Bruce using both hands to try to push the immovable head away from his sensitive neck.

[ineffable-rainandstars]

Note to self: Do not open tumblr at work. Do not open tumblr at work. With the ineffable smut war beginning I’ve gotta be more careful when I open tumblr.

[alwayscaskett810]

[m1d-45]

Occasionally I’d play music in the background while playing the game. Now on this fine day, I’ve played ‘The Plagues’ from the prince of Egypt. I have a certain two brothers on my team. One of them being my main, Kaeya. “This seems too familiar,” I said aloud. In SAGAU, what would their reactions be?

plagued

a/n: voidless, words cannot describe the jealousy i feel knowing you are a diluc haver. also, i had kinda a hard time with this one, so let me know if this isn’t what you wanted!

word count: ~2k (the song itself is abt. 300)

-> warnings: major spoilers for kaeya and diluc lore, biblical references (quotes from the song are used, which itself is an interpretation of the bible), the brothers think you’re the ‘lord’ being referenced, heavy angst, this got so sad so quickly—

-> lowercase intended!

< masterlist >

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky

i don’t think it would register the first 10 seconds or so. they might be interested from the haunted whispers, or wonder how your device managed to capture a choir. they would pause on ‘this saith the lord’ but would get over it quickly. naturally, they would assume it was referring to you, and everything after carries a bit more weight. what if it was a command of yours?

‘Since you refuse to free my people

All through the land of Egypt’

they’d be curious about where ‘egypt’ was, and whether or not you lived there. why were the people captured? were they prisoners of war? they knew how deadly a fight between gods could be- was your world in the midst of war?

‘I send a pestilence and plague

Into your house, into your bed

Into your streams, into your streets

Into your drink, into your bread’

all of a sudden very worried. they’re gonna assume the worst case scenario and worry that you’re suffering through a plague. diluc’s making plans to offer more food the next time he has dinner at the manor, and kaeya’s concerned you might get sick from the poisoned food. they don’t have the most advanced medicine, and certainly not medicine fit for a god.

‘Upon your cattle, on your sheep

Upon your oxen in your field

Into your dreams, into your sleep

Until you break, until you yield’

this will give them pause, if only until they think it over. cattle? ‘oxen’? how could your world be so advanced as to have a device to peer into theirs and yet rely on these animals? they quickly get ahold of it though, don’t worry: naturally, your device was a holy item, only to be used by you, a god. it made sense that the people you ruled over would rely on cows and sheep to live. but then.. was this song one of warning? warning whoever the other party was of your divine retribution?

it makes more sense to diluc than it does kaeya.

’I send the swarm, I send the horde

Thus saith the Lord’

this only cements in their minds that it’s a song of warning. your people there must call you their lord—it made sense, perhaps they should adopt it?—and you were threatening to send a swarm of… something. they hoped they would never have to know. the haunting beauty of the chant is not something they’re keen on ever experiencing.

‘Once I called you brother

Once I thought the chance to make you laugh

Was all I ever wanted’

this hurts.

badly.

horribly, an ache immediately burning their chests. the tired, saddened voice of the brother will echo inside of kaeya’s head, likely long past whenever the song ends, and diluc’s tripping—literally, if you’re mid-battle his model will freeze in place for a few moments—over the realization that this is a hymn meant for brothers.

they refuse to meet each others eyes, each focused on the task you’ve given them. the other members of your party look away, giving them space even if they’re not the type to usually do so. i ask that you leave the brothers off-field, as they’ll surely be delayed in following your commands and will likely get hurt because of it.

’I send the thunder from the sky

I send the fire raining down’

the eerie enactment of your voice suddenly carries so much more weight. in your world, at some point, two brothers had fought over ‘egypt’, and you had sent down plagues in punishment. surely you knew this, right? was this a warning to them? were you angry with them?

’And even now I wish that god had chose another

Serving as your foe on his behalf

Is the last thing that I wanted’

you can’t see it due to the camera being permanently set behind the character—provided he’s on the field—and diluc certainly can’t, since they’re facing away from each other, but kaeya’s eyes are quickly turning glassy. it hurts, the weight of his promise to khaenri’ah, to his father—to both of his fathers—manifesting as a hollow ache in his chest. it’s getting harder to breathe through the block in his throat, and he wonders if you’re intentionally playing this because of him. it wouldn’t be so surprising; he knows he’s not the best or the most devoted, he knows that you likely look down on his lying and secrecy, he knows, he does, but please don’t remind him of it. it already haunts him when he tries to sleep.

‘I send a hail of burning ice

On every field, on every town’

diluc has a better handle on his expressions—read: he’s better at suppressing them—but anybody who looked could see he was distressed. his jaw is tense, every muscle in his body taught. he didn’t move an inch when he was off-field, and he relied heavily on the binds of your device to move him on-field. he feels like a live wire, buzzing with energy and yet no way to vent it. he can’t cope with these feelings the same way he normally would, he can’t throw himself into paperwork or into battle. he can’t stomp through mondstat’s plains, he can’t call flame to his fingertips and burn out the pain. your presence, the heavy air of divinity around him, barely does anything to soothe the ache. if anything, it only burns brighter.

‘This was my home

All this pain and devastation

How it tortures me inside

All the innocent who suffer

From your stubbornness and pride’

oh.

it’s like the words were handcrafted, bent into a hook and cast on a line that swiftly caught kaeya’s soul. he tries to remind himself that it’s not about him, it’s not about diluc and it’s not about khaenri’ah and it’s not about crepus, it’s about some nation in your world called ‘egypt’-

he can’t. the words resonate with his very essence, the core of his being shaking alongside the swelling music and tragic melodies. he feels like a glass in the hand of an opera singer, quivering in place and unable to move an inch, just waiting for the right frequency to make him shatter.

as he chokes on his own air, he wonders why you played this song specifically. did you know how much it would rip him apart? did you realize how much it hurt, to see himself reflected in its lyrics? did you know that it would send him back to his youth, did you want him to relive that pain?

over the turmoil, he can hear your voice. “this seems too familiar..”

so you were aware.

he supposed he deserved it.

’I send the locusts on a wind

Such as the world has never seen

On every leaf, on every stalk

Until there's nothing left of green’

diluc also caught your little comment, and he might have laughed would it not have come out watery. of course you knew. of course you chose this song specifically. of course you put him on the team with your beloved, of course you made him work with his brother, the one you’ve poured the most of your time and effort into. of course. of course. this was all just a jab at him, wasn’t it? perhaps he was being a touch self-centered in that assessment, but really, it wasn’t that far-fetched. he knew his brother was your favorite. he knew that, despite his own feelings about him, your opinion stood higher than any other. no matter how hard he tried, he would always fall to second place.

it made sense that you wanted to remind him.

’I send my scourge, I send my sword

Thus saith the Lord

You who I called brother

Why must you call down another blow?’

cryo vision or not, kaeya’s skin is burning. his heart is thundering at twice the pace it should, his skin flushed with both blood and embarrassment. he couldn’t help but feel like you were directing this at him specifically, like you had picked this song specifically to get under his skin. he didn’t doubt that diluc was affected as well—time apart didn’t change either of their habits—but didn’t dare to look over. surely, if he saw how disheveled mondstat’s cavalry captain had become after a simple few verses, his words would once more line with fire and flame. he knew his brother resented his position as the one in your favor, but now, with this further context…

it feels like you only picked him to fix him.

‘I send my scourge, I send my sword

Let my people go

Thus saith the Lord

Thus saith the Lord’

dilucs mind is racing, trying to pick out the meaning behind the song. it’s a tale of two brothers, that’s obvious enough, and it’s clear you mean for a parallel to be found between those sung about and him and kaeya. maybe- maybe if he can find it, if he can find the message you want them to learn, he can act on it and maybe he could fix whatever you hated so much about their relationship. he wanted to, desperately, because surely there was a reason you chose to play this with them on your team. there had to be meaning in this, there had to be a reason you insisted on placing him besides his brother even when you made it clear which you favored, there had to be a way to fix whatever he did to anger you. he refused to believe otherwise.

‘You who I called brother

How could you have come to hate me so?

Is this what you wanted?’

no, no, it wasn’t, kaeya never meant for this wedge between them to drive so deep, the chasm that separated the two brothers was never meant to be deeper than his pinky was long. he wanted to reconcile, he wanted to reconnect, this was never what he wanted, he never meant to dissolve his relationship with his brother like this. there were days he spent at the bar, bottle in hand and filled with regret over his decisions, wishing for anything to fix it. he would never want this. but of course, as always, your omnipotent presence dared to accuse what mortal men could never speak.

‘I send the swarm, I send the horde

Then let my heart be hardened

And never mind how high the cost may grow

This will still be so’

diluc’s eyes close, his thoughts a swirling mix of the words he’s hearing and memories of stormy nights. memories of blood on his hands and the glinting light of a fatui insignia burn behind his eyes, the implications of your playing this song knowing that it resonated with the two of them lost in the chaos. his mind echoes words back at him, an apparition only there to eat at him. ‘never mind how high the cost may grow,’ it spits, taunting, and he doesn’t have the energy to retaliate. why would he? hes in no place to protest, not when it’s right.

’I will never let your people go

Thus saith the Lord

Thus saith the Lord

I will not-‘

they ask that you never play this song again.

‘Let your (my) people go’

[disneydatass]

At the end of Enchanted Giselle was the CEO of Andalasian dresses for little girls and had her own brick and mortar in NYC and in the sequel she is this depressed housewife? Did she lose her business to covid?!

[thesherrinfordfacility]

also just while the angsty pre-fall speculation gremlins have got me in a chokehold, you know how ep1 of both seasons starts with the wing thing like immediately before credits roll

well i can't imagine that they both do the wing thing at the same time in s3 it'd be strange so what if the s3 one shows a scene from in-between these two points

aziraphale approaches angel crowley to warn him against getting involved in this brewing rebellion that aziraphale has been hearing rumours and whispers about, and crowley dismisses his concerns again and they get into a slightly heated argument and storm off from each other in opposite directions - towards opposite sides of the screen - wings lifted respectively in agitation and the shadow of them reaches towards each other but just before they touch the screen cuts to the credits

[iraprince]

experimenting today with layer borders/stroke effects to quickly portray high-detail/texture stuff, like this wip still life of a knitting project...! doing better than past times i've tried this tip, i think

it's not very fast, bc i find i have to rly slow down + be intentional abt my lines or it starts looking pretty artificial (u know all those awful "comic book lines" filters in selfie editing apps + stuff? yeah.) but it's still certainly faster than outlining individual stitches

there's already an INCREDIBLE wealth of very nicely crafted shortcut brushes for this kind of thing in the csp assets store, including specifically for knitting stitches etc! but in my experience a lot of those have a pretty clean/crisp art style, and when ur married to very textured/grungy brushes like me, they end up looking very pasted-in or clip-art-y. :') it's such a shame bc i wish i could use all the great stuff that already exists but usually it just doesn't gel w my stuff. (<-guy who needs to learn how to make my OWN brushes)

[mizgnomer]

David Tennant and the cast of Good (and Fictionhouse co-founder Kate Horton) at the 2023 Olivier Awards ceremony

Good received the following Olivier nominations:

David Tennant for Best Actor

Sharon Small for Best Actress in a Supporting Role

Elliot Levey for Best Actor in a Supporting Role

Best Revival