Today in vc we discussed the concept of a gmod funeral so I drew my interpretation.

short rest

These guys are nawt studying

Jessie studies hard for her pokemon medical license exams.

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.

Kryptonian Heritage Picture Day

You had one job.

It's to deliver Kento's lunch without being seen by him or talk with him since your ass thinks it's much convenient rather than arguing again. After all you turn silent whenever in front of a confrontation which Kento would always do like the mature man he is.

You had one job.

Literary one job, so why are you on his office's couch writhing with his head in between your thighs and a couple of bullet vibrators he managed to tape on your sensitive nipples

"still not gonna talk ha? Stubborn brat."

He muffled, sloppily sucking onto your clit that makes your back arched and your hips bucking up to his face practically humping his tongue. You huffed throwing your head back as you bit onto your fingers when he paused in the middle of you being on the edge. Completely denying you of your climax for the nth time, your cunt desperately clenching around nothing.

Kento is not the type of man to be physically affectionate in public, that's just not him but apparently he's the type to secretly fuck you on his office in the middle of the day the moment he saw how one of his employee eyed you down with that sundress.

"Nami- wait- Can't-" you can barely form coherent words when a knock on the door interrupted. Loud squelching remaining echoing through the room.

"oh so now you wanna talk? Too late doll. Come in." You push the edge of your sundress down, covering his head which causes him to chuckle. His hand sneakily grabs another bullet vibrator which he entered in your soaked walls. Your mind although fogged up from the ecstasy managed to glance as the door opened, his secretary shock and flustered immediately turn back.

"I said come in." With hesitation, his secretary entered, their gaze avoiding yours. Kento keeps his pace on your clit, together with the vibrations of the toys attached to you bringing you to pure ecstasy. You're crying, whimpering as you grip his hair pulling it which he didn't really care about, you just taste so divine..so addictive to think this is all his.

"sir- I uhh have gathered the papers that need your signature..I..have also contacted Mr. Yue from the.. Acnoba company and they agreed on testing and improving our new product with their help they wish to have a meeting with you tomorrow should I add it to your schedule?" His secretary's words blurred in with your noises, he so professionally pulled away keeping his thumb on your clit. His gaze never wavered from your poor quivering body, hungrily taking in the sight that intoxicates his mind.

"leave the papers on my desk, add the meeting with Mr. Yue to my schedule. Inform them that I am looking forward to collaborating with Acnoba and exploring the possibilities of improving our new product-" His words got cut off as you let out a whine when he swiftly took out the bullet vibrator from your cunt to your clit. His digits replace the toy relishing in on how you deliciously spasm around it relentlessly hitting that spot that makes your eyes roll back.

"also prepare the contract for the collaboration of the- oh." He turned silent as you arched your back hiding your face as you squirt all over him. From his fingers to his face... A second of silence passed, his secretary not being able to handle the situation excuse themselves.

"mmm, bad move doll."

al's the kinda guy to wear sweater vests and oxfords <3

Zhao Zilong (given name Zhao Yun) is a general who lived during the Three Kingdoms period.

Some long overdue sillyness ~

posting some mind swap doodles to prove im still alive, so have a few headcanons :D

- Leo in Mikey's body is pure chaos, he has no boundaries when it comes to modifications to "his" body in order to feel more comfortable in his own skin. For example, he gave himself his old markings to cover up Mikey's spots (only around the eyes tho, the arm and leg markings would take way more time.) He loves using Mikey's mystic powers/weapons at first, but eventually feels too weird about it and switches to his own weapons/gear to cope

- Mikey reins him in whenever he gets a little too confident in using his mystic powers though. Mikey is always hovering nearby to make sure Leo doesn't decide to go overboard, fully aware of Leo's lack of awareness when it comes to his physical limits, let alone when he's in someone else's body

- Raph is on the opposite side of the spectrum as far as modifications go, only willing to give Donnie his tech back and wear arm wraps to feel more like himself.

- The only tech he has to keep is the battle shell, especially after realizing just how fragile Donnie's body really is. He becomes refuses to take it off for days at a time, and when he does finally take it off, he's extremely paranoid and puts himself in the safest spot possible: his own room, bundled up in pillows and blankets.

- He also is woefully ignorant in how the battle shell is operated, so it goes haywire pretty often in the beginning. Donnie has to be nearby and ready to be damage control for a long time before Raph becomes confident enough to operate the battle shell's most basic functions.

the brothers ever :)

idk if this relatable to anyone else, but i don’t really talk about my special interests to anyone irl. like the thought of anyone finding out, especially close friends and family, that i like rise as much as i do makes me want to die a little bit on the inside. of course it wouldn’t be a big deal but still… does anyone know what i’m talking about or am i just being silly…?

i haven’t watched Bluey so idk much about it other than it has dogs so i just made leo like it for the same reasons i like rise (family shenanigans)

also messy comic ik but it is what it is

part two

I'll let @sisterofhamsternamedmarinette explain this one 😘

Finally finished the thing

Noodle Identification Chart  (print)

Different practice doodles

Ianthe ended up looking like she has a chicken leg arm. Yum!