whatever you guys do, don't imagine regulus dying in the cave alone thinking about James and Sirius and betraying Voldemort while listening to doomsday by Lizzy McAlpine. also don't think about james learning regulus died without knowing he betrayed the dark lord. this is their fucking song for real it breaks me.

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.

Me: i ❤ doomed relationship

The doomed relationship: *fulfills the "doomed" title*

Me:

based off one of @nitewrighter 's bapweaver fanteractions!

and then the inevitable happens</3

𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕦𝕤𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟' '𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕓𝕠𝕪𝕤, 𝕓𝕠𝕪𝕤, 𝕓𝕠𝕪𝕤 ₊⊹˖

𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕦𝕤𝕪 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕟' '𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕓𝕠𝕪𝕤, 𝕓𝕠𝕪𝕤, 𝕓𝕠𝕪𝕤 ⊹₊⋆

ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕟𝕚𝕟' 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟' '𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕓𝕠𝕪𝕤 🎶 -`♡´-

*sudden ominous feeling* who or what tf is hurting swannie while the boys aren’t there oh NO

swanatello. ->

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I think sometimes people need a little reminder about this scene and how important it is in showing us how the dynamic between Arthur and Mary worked.

The feelings between them are solely mutual, nobody is taking advantage of the other, and they actually talk about it. They have the maturity to admit how much they wanted things to be different, and they agree that it's all in the past now.

Mary doesn't demand his help or beg on her knees. She asked sincerely because that's still her father, no matter how he treats her. Arthur knows this, he knows how important (what's left of) her family is to her. He put his feelings about her father aside because he wants to help.

Even despite how their lives had changed over the years, they still cared so much about eachother. After losing her husband, her brother going back to college, her mother not being around anymore and her father still being abusive, Mary was fucking lonely.

She was so miserable and if there was anybody left that she could trust, it would absolutely be Arthur.

And it hurts because so much between them was left unsaid, it's just that Arthur took it to the grave.

Finally! All of the comics I drew became canon! It's time for retired Kratos to go through his mid-life crisis (again)!

I got this idea from when Mimir asked Kratos why they are in Valhalla in the trailer lol man it feels so good to be drawing these again! I really hope to get more inspired when the DLC comes out!

Hope you enjoy this! 🤭

I GOT A PLANE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT DONT YOU MIND?

I NEARLY KILLED SOMEBODY DONT YOU MIND??

DONT YOU MIND!!???????

I GAVE YOU SOMETHING YOU CAN NEVER GIVE BACK DONT YOU MIND?? YOU SEE MY FACE LIKE I HEART ATTACK DONT YOU MIDN? DONT YOU MINDDD????????? I WAS LATE. BUT I ARRIVED.

IM SORRY BUT ID RATHER BE GETTING HIGH THEN WATCHING MY FAMILY DIE.

EXAGGERATE. AND YOU AND I.

OHHH I THINK IDID SOMEHTING TERRIBLE TO YOUR BODY DONT YOU MIND???????????????!!!!??????

I PUT YOUR MOTHER THROUGH HELL DONT YOU MIND?????

I HURT YOUR BROTHER ASWELL. DONT YOU MIDNDDDDD? DONT YOU MIND?

OH I WAS THINKING BOUT KILLING MYSELF.

DONT YOU MIND???????????

I LOVE YOU

DONT YOU MIND??????

DONT YOU MIND ?????

can anyojen hear me PLEASEEEEE

thank you WH update for confirming that Wally breathes. i really thought he didnt <3

my favorite steamgoth icon

I like to think that after Ice died, Mav kept his shoes by the front door so that when he gets home after work and takes his shoes off it’s like Ice is still there in the house waiting for him to come home

The death of Nex & queer people like him scares me.

It scares me because that could've been me.

It scares me because that could've been my friends.

And it scares me even more knowing that if I knew him, we probably could've been friends.

He deserved to live.

He deserved to live to 17.

He deserved to graduate high school.

He deserved to grow up and accomplish things.

And now that he's gone, he deserves to have the full truth told about his death.

Come on guess who my favorite SCP doctor (and author) is, Bonus

Tiny bug